KILL THE BAIT CATCH THE FISH!

Originally published the week of Oct. 2, 2007 in Western Outdoor News

If you’ve spent anytime fishing the ocean from boat or other watercraft, you understand the concept of “live bait.” It’s priceless.

If you fish a party boat or fish from a private vessel, you’ve been in the lineup patiently waiting for live bait from the bait boat, bait receiver or bait barge. Those are scoops of gold going into your bait tank, as important or more important than the fishing gear, the fried chicken and the beer in the cooler…well, Ok, not the beer.

However, without the live bait, there’s almost no point in going. If the quality of the live bait isn’t good, it’s not much better. Listless, bloody-nosed and tired bait with scales falling off or swimming erratically is about as good as no bait as well.

It’s in our collective fishing psyche. Live bait good. Dead bait bad.

But whoa. Hold on, Jose…

The first time I saw a Mexican skipper do it, I was besides myself. We were fishing off San Jose.

What the…? Hey! That’s my bait!!! He was killing my precious live bait. Bait that I had just paid 20 bucks for, he was scooping it out into his bucket and killing it! He took a handful of the wiggling sardines and threw it forcefully against the side of the boat stunning and killing it. It fell to the water in a scattered heap and started to sink away

“Wait, amigo…don’t…!”.I attempted to say.

He smiled. Held a finger to his lips to politely tell me to shut up and took another handful of bait and smacked it against the gunwale.

The captain then took my rod; pulled off some line and pinned a dead sardine on the hook. He stripped off many yards and tossed the whole mess of slack line into the other sinking bits of chum.

I looked at him questioningly as he put the rod into my hands and put on the clicker. I watched helplessly as my precious bait drifted in the current and gently settled out of sight below the boat in the blue Cortez waters. He kept smiling very smugly at me.

This is nuts. What an idiot I have for a cap….suddenly my clicker went off in a hum. So did my heart. The captain deftly reached over, threw the reel out’ve freespool and I was hooked up! The rod gave a mighty bend! I was bit!

“Tuna!” he grinned. He pointed to his head and gave me a sly wink! He sat back near his outboard smiling

As I fought the fish, it occurred to me what he had done. East Coast and long range sportfishers had been doing it for years. In many variations, the captain had “chunk” fished.

It’s a variation on chumming, e.g, tossing bait into the water to attract fish. When the fish come, you then bait a hook and cast to the fish.

With chumming, you camouflage your hook right in the middle of the chum. All of these bits and pieces of fish settle down into the current and sink away. However, one of those bits o’ bait has a big sharp hook in it!

It is an incredibly effective way to catch fish and since that first day, I’ve used the technique to catch more tuna, dorado, pargo, cabrilla, yellowtail, amberjack and numerous other species.

I’m not a fish psychologist, but I think fish are a lot like people. Everyone loves a good buffet line. No one likes chasing around for their food. Chasing your food takes too much energy. That’s what separates us from the cavemen hunter-gatherers and 21st century homo-sapien fishermen! We like it now and we like it easy. We like it right in front of us and we love to load up! It’s impossible to eat must one French fry; one meatball; one stuffed potato skin!

I think fish are the same way. Why expend the energy when all my food is right in front of my face and isn’t trying to get away. Time to chew!

I have put on snorkel gear and watched fish in the “chunk line!” I’ve seen 50 pound tuna, and other species literally slurp and gulp chunks of bait like the circus fat man eating potato chips! Big and lazy. No hurry. The food isn’t trying to get away. Slurp! Slurp!

Well, one of those has your hook in it!

Remember, “Dead bait does not swim!” When line starts peeling off your reel, that’s not the bait swimming away. Time to hit the brakes and lean into that fish. You’re bit!

I’m a convert. Kill my bait? Sure. Now let’s catch some fish!




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

HIS NAME IS PANCHO!!

Originally published in Western Outdoor News the week of Sept. 24. 2007

Over the many years, I’ve had this conversation in one way, shape or form:

Angler: “We’re coming fishing this year and we want the same captain we had five years ago. He was really good!”

Me: “Great! What as his name?”

Angler: “Uh, I think it was “Pancho.” You know who I’m talking about. He’s the really good captain you have. We caught so many tuna with him five years ago!”

Me: (skeptically) Well, uh, I have several captains named “Pancho.” Can you tell me more?

Angler: “Oh c’mon. You know who he is! His panga is blue and white (like everyone else). He wore a t-shirt every day that had the Nike shoe logo on it (remember this is five years ago).”

Me: “Let me guess, he was short, brown, had a mustache and wore a baseball hat too, right and he liked to drink beer!”

Angler: “That’s the guy! I knew you’d remember! That’s the guy we want this year too!”

I throw up my hands and shake my head. Of course that description could fit any of hundreds of guys named “Pancho” that fish for a living here in Baja.

Still, I like it when clients ask for a captain by name. To me, it means that somewhere along the line, they connected.

For all the gear we buy and seem to need every time we go to the tackle store to get an “edge” in our fishing, there’s one item that sometimes goes overlooked. We want to catch more fish. We want to have a better time. We want to beat the other guys in that 10 dollar jackpot or win the beer pool money. We’ll do whatever it takes to do!

But what about your truly best weapon on your boat that day? A good boat is fine. Great gear is a bonus. But what about the guy driving the wagon?

I don’t care how good you are. There is nothing that replaces local knowledge and chances are the guy riding with you and driving the boat has forgotten more about this particular fishing hole than you will ever know.

Most were raised in the area and were cleaning dad’s fish or schlepping bait when they were still in gradeschool or working weekends and holidays to help feed the family.You’ve been to Baja 10 times in the last 10 years? Your captain was fishing 300 days a year in these waters before he know how to drive.

He learned from his dad and uncles and grandfather who learned from their dads, uncles and grandfathers. Look at their hands and you’ll see the callouses and line burns turned to scars from years of hand lines. Even the young ones have a permanent squint from staring into the sun for that “finner” on the surface or the birds diving the bait.

Give me a bad boat and a good skipper over a great boat and cruddy skipper any day of the week. I’ll give up my GPS satellites for the knowledge in the captain’s head and his ability to triangulate to a fishing hot spot by simply lining up points of reference…that hilltop…that tree…the old lighthouse. These veteran skippers don’t fish as a hobby. It’s a living and when they’re not fishing for you, many are still on the water fishing commercially. You get pretty good when feeding your family rides on your ability to find fish.

I see so many anglers overlook the most important asset on the boat. If you can build a rapport with your skipper that’s even better. Especially, if you fish more than one day with the same captain.

Fishing with your best buddy takes awhile to get used to how he or she fishes. Same thing down here with a captain. You fish with a captain and you have certain expectations, stereotypes, etc. you have to work around. Everyone is different. Captains are different as well.

Surprise, they feel the same about you. They really don’t know if you’ve never held a rod and reel in your hand or you’re the saltiest dog that ever trod the Baja. The captains tell me often they assume the clients knows very little and work up from there so that there’s fewer margins for error.

After the first day, you each know a bit more about each other’s skills, abilities and personalities. With each passing day, you’re a better team…a better human fishing machine! Hopefully, you’ll also be making new friends as well.

It’s not so easy when there are language barriers, but you’d be surprised how many captains know more English than they let on. Certainly, any captains worth his salt is able to communicate basic fishing language such as “reel,” “more line,” “pull harder,” “wait for the bite,” etc. Plus, there’s the universal language of smiles, “please,” “thank you,” “gracias,” that work wonders in any language.

Believe me, the captains do remember you! If you come down year after year, the captains will remember you and actually look forward to the return visit unless you were an absolute jerk. With each trip, a fishing relationship grows. The “team” gets better and hopefully, your trip will be enhanced by the fact that you’re not just fishing with a hired guide…you’re fishing with another fishing buddy!


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

MEET MY LITTLE FRIEND!

BIG ENOUGH TO EAT ME!!!!

Originally published the week of Sept. 18, Western Outdoor News

In the last couple of weeks, I’ve had a couple of incidents that I wanted to pass onto you.

Let me set the scene.

A couple arrive at the beachfront hotel for a few days fishing and R and R. He’s been here before. This is her first time. It’s a nice place by Baja standards. Not the Hilton but not the Shady Road Inn either. They get the key. He opens the door. She goes in first.

Before he’s half-way in the door, she comes running out screaming about a huge lizard on the wall the size of a komodo dragon, “big enough to eat me!” The monster is making guttural croaking noises at her. She literally runs him over. She demands he change hotel and “get her outta this country!”

He turns on the light. It’s a 3 inch gecko lizard smiling from the wall at them with those big eyes.

Second scenario, we check in a fisherman. He’s a salty cuss. Been everywhere. Done everything. Caught every fish imaginable in all parts of the globe according to his own PR that he recites to everyone he meets. He goes to his room.

Five minutes later the front desk receptionist picks up the phone and immediately pushes it away from his ear. Anyone nearby can hear the person on the other end screaming at the top of their lungs.

According to the receptionist, the worldly angler is in a tizzy. He wants out. He wants to go home NOW. He wants me to personally take him back to the airport and he wants a whole crew of maintenance men in his room NOW! There are huge flying insects attacking him!

Four of us go rushing up and barge through the door like those officers you see on the COPS television show! Bad boys. Bad boys. What ya gonna do? Rescue the fisherman! Hurry! Hurry!

One of our maintenance guys has an industrial sprayer. Another has gloves and a netted helmet. Our intrepid fisherman is standing on the bed yelling and pushing himself into a corner as if the hordes from hell are after him. Like his underwear are on fire!

We find… a bee. One bee. Well, OK a big bee. Maintenance man doffs his shoe. Smacks the bee against the wall. SMACK! Job done. We walk out shaking our heads.

“Well, a moment before you guys came in they were swarming like there were thousands of them, “ he says sheepishly. “Really…thousands!!!” His voice trails off. We believe you.

Third scenario. We are on a camping trip kayaking the islands. We spend our evenings in sleeping bags under old palapa lean-to’s erected and used by commercial fishermen. It’s hot so a lot of us sleep on top of our bags in shorts and t-shirts or under the stars. Baja as it was meant to be!

In the middle of the night one guy is screaming like something crawled up his shorts. It did! A small scorpion apparently fell out’ve the the overhead palms, crawled up his leg and bit him just inches from you-know-where!

He’s in pain! He’s in panic! His mind floods with National Georgraphis specials; old Tarzan movies; and horrendous stories of death in the desert! He’s leaping and contorting and now woken up the entire camp! The agony. Oh to die in such a place! He remembers laughing at those juvenile jokes of his youth about someone having to “suck out the poison.”

As the professional guide, I quickly assess the situation. I must act decisively. I run to the ice chest and pop a beer. I grab him and tell him he MUST calm down or the poison will travel faster! His eyes grow wide, but he slows down. Sweat pouring down his face. Everyone is surrounding us in grave concern!

He is nearly in tears. “Here, pour ½ this cold beer on the bite.” He does so wincing more at the iciness than the pain

“What do I do with the rest of this?” he asks holding the bottle. Eyes are wide with terror.

“Drink the rest.” What? “You’ll sleep better and you won’t wake the rest of us up. In about an hour you won’t even feel the bite. Unless you have some rare allergy, that bite is nothing more than a bee sting. Good night. Show’s over everyone.” I walk back to my sleeping bag.

You know…I’m glad Baja still has bugs. Yes, spiders, snakes, scorpions, tarantualas, flying critters. They can be a nuisance, but most are actually pretty harmless once you shake all those TV images out of your head. They are NOT waiting to attack you. They have a lot more to fear from us than the other way around.

The day all the critters are gone is the day Baja will be one big concrete paved parking lot of condos and strip malls and t-shirt shops. It’s headed that way. God help the bugs! The humans are coming.

That's my story. If you ever need to reach my, my e-mail is riplipboy@aol.com

Jonathan

ANOTHER TAKE ON FALL IN BAJA

Originally published in Western Outdoor News week of Sept. 12, 2007

Last week I wrote of my enthusiasm for this time of the year in the Baja. It’s a great time to be down here for innumerable reasons, not the least of which is the fishing.

I guess the fish gods and Mother Nature heard me and decided to tag-team and give me a bit of a “wedgie.” Just a little harmless fun to remind me that I had neglected to mention another aspect of being in Baja in the fall.

Three days after writing the last column, we were humming right along. Fishing was rocking Weather was grand. Lots of happy clients. Life was good. We could do no wrong. Notice I used the past tense.

And just like that, it changed again!

I find myself looking up at the sky like everyone else. We’re all glued to our computer screens and debating whether CNN weather website is better than the NOAA site or Weatherunderground.com. Instead of answering e-mails and phone calls asking what about the fishing and diving, I’m hearing, “Should we cancel our trip?”

Like some some boogeyman, everone wants to know whether “IT” is coming?

All because of Henriette.

One day we’re basking in sunshine and the next we’re bailing water; filling sandbags; tying down boats; looking for flashlight batteries; losing power and dodging 20 pound coconuts falling from trees!


Henriette was our first big chubasco (hurricane) of the season. I think it’s number 6 for me not to count numerous strong tropical storms. I’ve never been in anything stronger than a category 2 blow, nor do I want to, but in all seriousness, these things are darned fascinating.

I’m not making light of the seriousness of calamitous weather or what something like a Katrina-sized storm can do to life, limb and property. People get hurt and killed by these things. Lives are altered.

But, taken in a vacuum (no pun intended), there’s nothing like observing nature on the loose. It’s even better being in the center of it! Step inside the Weather Channel! The skies darken and liquefy as clouds approach with amazing speed and like an ominous blanket of grey it descends on you.

Winds take on a life of their own. Osterizing the ocean into a frenzy, they swirl and cavort and whip in sheets as thick as the rain that starts to fall driving water before it with incredible force.

Hurricane winds don’t howl. They scream like runaway trains looking for things to hit and wrap around. A tree here. Roof shingles there. There go the lawn chairs. Has anyone seen the dog?

The rain stings and goes horizontal. The wind eventually torques up like the sound of a jet engine. And if you can, stand outside in the center of the maelstrom. Raise your arms and brace against the onrushing force of elements. To scream as loud as you can is to feel something deep and primal and probably as therapueutic as 10 expensive sessions on the doctor’s couch. The sheer joy of yelling into the winds of the gods…soaked to the skin and laughing.

Imagine riding in the last car on the rollercoaster and standing up with your hands raised as it takes that first long long long long drop. It is that kind of scream. It’s visceral. It’s an emotion that we keep tucked up inside as we go through our civilized existence Screaming for fun is not allowed. Good boys and girls don’t yell.

But, stand in a hurricane and flip convention the bird and scream for awhile and watch the world literally blow by as nature reminds us that it still has the ultimate ability to kick us in our butts. Man has learned to control his environment to some degree, but he has never plugged a volcano. Never put a cork on a hurricane. Never stopped rain or snow from falling. Never turned off a heatwave.


The Baja is a great place to be in the fall and yes, storms can happen. The late summer and fall are storm season in Baja. Will it happen on YOUR vacation? It could. But not likely. It’s like asking what are the chances I’ll hit a blizzard in New York in December. It could happen, but don’t cancel your flights because of it.

I know we all like sun and all the activities that go with it. But storms are also part of it at times. It reminds of what that the wild things are not far away. And, ultimately, isn’t that what we like about Baja?

It’s not antiseptic. It’s not completely predictable. Baja is still the frontier where we can wander the deserts; explore the oceans; you cannot always get hot water and yes…occasionally you get a gully-washer of a storm. If you want predictable and safely from the wild without leaving your comfortable chair, go to Vegas and turn on the climate control.

I still like my Baja on the wilder side.



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

PRESEASON IS OVER! BRING ON THE MAIN EVENT!

Originally published the week of Sept. 3 in Western Outdoor News



It was the weirdest thing this week. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it happen so abruptly.

We were chugging along with the fishing season pretty much oblivious to the days or the seasons or anything. One day is kind of like the next when your day starts in the dark and ends in the dark seven-days-a- week.

All of a sudden summer stopped.

In the states, the transition from summer to fall is somewhat more gradual. All of a sudden you notice kids are in school or football is on TV. Stuff like that.

When you live in a resort area that relies on fishing, You don’t get much TV. We don’t see many school kids anyway. The seasons are measured in how many people get off the plane; how many coolers are stacked in hotel lobbies; the line up for margaritas at the bar and what types of fish are on the fillet table.

But this week, it was like someone threw a lightswitch. Someone threw the brakes on summer and it was eerie.

We didn’t even know it at first until someone commented that all the hotels were suddenly empty. Someone else said that only 10 people got off a normally packed flight. A drive through town showed empty restaurants. I got a few e-mails from friends in Cabo and the East Cape and Loreto noticing the same thing.

Ever see one of those old Twilght Zone shows where someone comes back from someplace and finds their whole town is empty? They later discover that some strange virus or nuclear disaster had struck. It’s that “last-person-on-the-planet-feeling.”

I finally asked one of the hotel owners in town what was up. They simply smiled and said, “It’s easy. Summer is over. It ended this week. Kids went back to school. Its like that in Mexico. ”

And just like that, it came to a screeching halt. I passed that onto my compadres in the other fishing cities who also have fishing businesses and they were also surprised. We get into our daily grind and fail to look up to see the forest for the trees. None of us had even actually realized that it was already Labor Day in the U.S. and here in Baja, it was back-to-school.


But, ahhhhh….summer…you can have it!

Yea, it’s nice and all. Families are here. Waters get warmer. Kids all over the place. Lots of tourists. Fish are nice.

But to me, summer is like pre-season football. It’s like the undercard in a big boxing match or watching the cartoons and trailers before the real show comes on. It’s entertaining. You eat a few hot dogs, some popcorn and your soda and it’s “nice.” Nobody is disappointed.

But, now here comes the fall. This is the main event as far as my Baja fishing is concerned. Take the rent rods home. Fall is when you strap it on and you get ready for full contact. Yes, send the kids home. Bring your “A” game because the Baja is also going to throw it’s best at you.

Forget the punk school-dorado. Those little 5 pounders are what we use for bait! You want that big bull you see in all the photos? Well those little 15 pounders of June are now 40-60 pounders in September and October.

If you talk-the-talk, then walk-the-walk. You might get fewer fish in the fall, but the quality will more than make up for it and the big bulls don’t give second chances. Guys who whined in July about “too many small” fish, got to put up or shut up now when they come back for fall fishing.

Not only are the dorado bigger, but the billfish muscle up as well. Forget the little stripers and sails. Yes, they are still around, but this is man-up time. The blue marlin and black marlin that made Baja famous are in the house. These are the 200-1000 pound bad boys that won’t even know they are hooked 2 hours into the fight when you’re on you’re knees; your arms are shaking with fatigue and you’re looking to hand the rod to someone else!

There’s a reason, all the big marlin tournaments are had in the fall. They don’t put up all those big checks to catch needlefish! Guys don’t come here from Europe, Australia and Africa to catch bonito…unless it’s to cram into a tuna tube to use as a 5 pound piece of bait!

Fall is also great tuna time. It’s the “gorilla zone” in places like the Gordo Banks, Golden Gate, El Bajo, Thetis and others. These are the tuna that eat albacore for breakfast. Even in northern Baja south of San Deigo, yellowfin, big-eye and bluefin can be found. These yellowfin are the ones with those great yellow sickle fins you see in all the photos. Want your 200 pounder? Now’s the time to be in Baja.

Wahoo? Try the Gordos off San Jose del Cabo or the banks off Bahia Magdalena or the islands around La Paz. Roll north around Loreto and see what a fish that can jet to 70 mph can do to your drags!

Yup…I like the fall. Can’t wait. My fingers get itchy. Now the season begins! Bring it on!


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