Chasing tuna.
What else can I say? It was epic! When we arrived
in La Paz we heard tuna were seen around the Isla
Espiritu Santo. I got
shivers at the thought of landing a yellowfin with a fly rod on a kayak.
Could it even be done? It was difficult enough standing up in a panga,
the twenty-two foot open boats used by Baja fishermen. But one always
arrives the day after big surf or great fishing. No matter, I knew that
the catching would be great.
After breakfast on the third morning we could see a
couple of hand lining fishermen working the spot a half mile off the
beach. We all yelled in chorus when we sighted leaping fish tearing
through the live bait, or sardinas, that the fishermen were scattering
five or six at a time with sweeping arm motions. We clambered into our
kayaks and shouted for our rods and paddles. I was white- knuckling my
fly rod as if a tuna was
already trying to leave with it.
We knew we had a fly that would work even when the
tuna got picky. I had now fly-fished for more than 10 years with
fishermen whose families had harvested the seas for several generations.
They live near Las Arenas and Cerralvo Island. Yellowfin live here too,
with sea mounts and troughs to five thousand feet deep a few miles off
shore.
Gary holding Aaron Taylor's yellow fin.
Tuna on the fly rod has always been what I really
wanted to figure out. They put every move and every connection to the
test. They may stubbornly refuse the mosca or fly. They slam your fly on
a thirty-mile an hour blitz, sending your loose line into an explosion
in the air. They are the perfectly constructed swimming machines-
beautiful to see up close. I had fished very hard for them in many
seasons from a panga. It was not uncommon to blow my one chance in the
day by having just one weak link in the lines, leaders or flies that I
had prepared. I had already made the mistake of using stainless steel
hooks and had them open up on larger fish. Or my drag was set too tight,
or a snapped reel handle, or a line loop formed a knot that you see
suddenly part a hundred yards out. Anything could happen. It all had
happened. Even if you get through all that at the last second you might
high stick your rod and shatter it when the tuna sees you and decides
not to come on board. What fun.
In October I showed up at Las Arenas with some
subtly colored flies in olive and white with blue flash. My fiend Jeff
Priest had kindly delivered them to LAX ten minutes before my boarding.
I had seen him tie and immediately knew his Sardina pattern was probably
going to appeal to the tuna. They really looked like the Monterey
sardinas –a type of flatiron herring that is the favorite live bait.
There are three sardina species in the area, all very similar, but
slightly different in size.
I knew that my panga captain, Valente Lucero, had
guided lots of other fly fishers. He often seemed to have “felt”
where the fish were because of his vast experience on the water. He
takes in the wind, clouds, water color,
season and other signs and finds fish. When the catching got tough I
asked him to pick out a fly for me. He tended towards the small and dark
for yellowfin. I gave up on my big gaudy flies and started to
have more consistent success. But in the sun the bait always looked
bright silver with an iridescent olive green back and a reflective blue
stripe down the side. Why were the tuna keying on black and white? Why
did they seem to avoid flash sometimes? One April morning in low light
Valente lifted his throw net to shake the captured sardinas into the
boat and I was startled at what I saw. The bait fish were all hanging in
the net perfectly horizontal and at my low viewing angle they appeared
to be plain black and white. Just maybe, from the depths looking up at
the sardinas with less light refracting and less color visibility, they
would appear just dark and light. I was starting to get it, or was I?
The Tuna Tux worked
I had
been invited to stay in the village of Agua Amarga, near Las Arenas
where these fishing families lived. This time I decided to give my
Spanish a work out. Valente’s family moved their big old wooden four
poster out into the dirt yard in the breeze and shade of the papaya
trees. We stayed up until ten looking at family picture albums. We
fished the next morning and after a late lunch we sat around under a
palapa and drank beer and coffee with several of the Lucero family
captains while some of the village children circled us with their games.
I was asked to bring back high quality American huaraches –Tevas- when
I returned. The irony was not lost on any of us. It used to be that we
came to Mexico to buy these-now I was to import them into Mexico?
Luciano Lucero at ninety-four, is the living Patron
in the village. Ask him about his life, his eyes sparkle and he will
boast about his seven sons that are all fishing captains, and how
abundant the seas were when his father fished here. It must be a good
life because none of them had moved away. In fact, after Valente met me
at the airport in La Paz, he confessed that it was the first time he had
ever been there- and it is only forty-five minutes from his little
village!
Gathered with these experienced fishermen gave me
an opportunity. I brought out my fly boxes and asked each of them to
pull out their idea of the perfect yellowfin fly. By unanimous decree it
was the mostly black with a little belly of white. While mumbling
apologies to Jeff and his efforts, I began shading his gifts with a
black permanent marker and pulling out some of the flash. When I had
time the next evening I tied up a half dozen. I had to call it the
“Luciano” in honor of the Patron.
The Luciano worked. It still required patience
sometimes, but the magnificent chromium yellow torpedoes would eat it.
It is a 2 ˝” black and white deceiver tied on a strong 2/0 hook with
red or black on pearl eyes. Nothing
is truly original; I know this from woodworking.
Back to kayaking. We had found the right fly but
this was different than landing a tuna from a panga. We had no live chum
to keep them up and no leg power to pump them back up once, if ever, we
hooked them. In essence: our
lever was much shorter. We mounted our noble plastic steeds and paddled
into the feeding frenzy. Three of us hooked up within thirty seconds of
each other and wakes began to form behind our kayaks. In that first
skirmish five of us experienced that satisfying feeling of our drags
heating up.
The first one came in at 19 1/2 pounds. We soon
found out it was important
to have another kayaker assist in the landing, especially since we had
no gaffs or nets! (Yes, next time!) . Reaching out from your kayak to
tail grab a hot fifteen-pound tuna was probably the scariest part of
all. As you can imagine all hell broke loose. The person on the rod had
to back his drag way off and be ready to point the rod down very, very
quickly, in case the grab was missed. When you did connect with that
vibrating tail the first thing that happened was that you were soaked by
the thrashing fish.. Then you had to hang on for dear life while it
tried to pull your arm out of its socket. That day we landed three and
lost as many, and broke a few rods learning to handle them at the boat.
It all lasted less than thirty minutes. We were lucky they stayed
around that long. Exhilaration.
Then we started to pick up one here and there very
close to shore, and sometimes, in the middle of the day. Finally we
figured out that each evening they
appeared right outside the bay where
we were camped. Once we knew how close they were, we made sure we were
there to meet them. Many of us got the "Baja sleigh ride." The
final counts were seven yellowfin tuna landed, (all between 14 and 20
pounds), seven “released”, and three rods shattered. No complaints-we were all flying high on the excitement of
the challenge. I hope they
are around next time. Was it a fall run that occurs fairly on schedule?
I would like to think so.
A great group of adventurers came out to Espiritu
Santo. The weather was never too hot. There were some northerly winds a
few mornings and one night, but we were not kept off the water for too
long, because there is almost always a leeward side with great fishing.
We used a panga to move us en masse with our kayaks and then start
casting again. We snorkeled the bays and swam with the playful sea
lions, and practiced casting one and two-handed rods on the beach. We
hiked the canyons and climbed cliff tops for views. Marine biologist and
fly fisher Jose Sanchez, our newest staff member, made these side trips
entertaining and educational.
Pam Chandler with WR Sierra
The black skipjack tuna were often as tough as the
yellowfin tuna and we landed at least fifty. The other most commonly
caught fish was the sierra mackerel. Pam Chandler, on her first
saltwater trip, got what qualified as a world record Sierra mackerel
(four and half pounds). We were kept smiling by about fifteen other
varieties of fish, including a yellowtail caught by Richard Carlson.
Marshall Bisset was the reef specialist with all his cabrilla and pargo.
We connected with giant needlefish, bonita, lady fish, Creole fish,
triggers, leopard grouper and green jacks. Then there was the manta ray
that took Aaron Taylor for quite a ride. Or the large yellowfin that
Toby fought for an hour before the bite tippet was severed. The fish
Jean had on for over an hour that we never saw. Everyone had a story to
remember.
It was hard to part with these friends and such
breathtaking beauty and abundant sea life. I know when we return a new
and unexpected awaits us. Still, I hope my petitions to the tuna gods
are heard.
Suerte, Gary
Pictures
from this trip are at : Baja gallery 4
Baja
gallery 5 Baja
gallery 6
