On the morning of April 11 we all met in in La Paz. The
whole crew had unanimously decided to forego the first night at our
hotel, Club El Moro, and use the time to squeeze in another day on the
island. I like fired up flyfishers-especially when I know they will not
be disappointed. We went from the airport directly to the beach at
Tecalote, loaded our baggage and were cruising in our new thirty foot
"panga" along the western length of Isla Espiritu Santo within
a half hour.
I am always amazed at it's stark beauty no matter how many times I
visit it. Arriving at the northern island, called Isla Partida, we
turned deep into a cove and landed on a white coral beach and setup our
tents. Alvaro, our good humored cook, had a refreshing lunch complete
with local fruit and cold beer waiting for us.
Alvaro
After a short orientation and safety discussion we strung up our rods
headed to the northern end of the Isla. One at a time we climbed into
our yaks and were passed a rod and a paddle. As the kayaks began roaming
around all eyes searched for a sign, especially for that telltale frenzy
of diving birds. This usually signals fish tearing up a school of
bait.
Off the "punta" about a quarter mile are Los Islotes
-incredible rock formations that is a sea lion and bird colony. The
birds were working furiously out there. But, before we could get there
skipjack tuna from 6 to 12 pounds and sierra mackerel began grabbing our
flies and making incredibly strong and long runs, or in the case of the
sierra, often severing our leaders. I heard giggles and whimpers as line
was ripping off reels. The grins were getting huge.
The first time you catch a fish of this power all your trout playing
finesse goes out the window. The next thing you notice is how much
backing is disappearing off your reel. Nothing like a quick lesson in
how to handle the likes of small tuna on a fly rod in a kayak. Sometimes
it is so much fun being a guide. At one location- the passage way
between the two parts of Espiritu Santo (called the Partida) we found ourselves
in the midst of manta rays leaping four to six feet into the air and
slapping down on the water for an hour.
The sound was sometimes like automatic gunfire echoing off the
cliffs. That was the beginning- I won't get into too long of a story
about all the pargo (snappers), sierra, trigger fish, lady fish,
cabrilla, grouper, Creole fish, etc., we landed everyday. Or the
fantastic sunsets, great meals, camaraderie, or the moonlight paddles,
or the cold Margaritas waiting for us at the camp kitchen.
Gary
