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Fly fishing in the Sea of Cortez
http://159.54.227.3/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20050527/OUTDOORS0201/505270333/1004
May 28, 2005
PUNTA COLORADA, MEXICO -- At dawn Sunday, I climbed into a panga -- a 25-foot fishing boat -- with a guy I had met 40 hours before at the Cabo San
Lucas airport.
We were headed out for a day of fly fishing for tuna, dorado and other fish that careen through the warm, dark-blue Sea of Cortez.
But I was a little nervous.
Ben Simpson was part of the group that I joined last week to fly fish out of Punta Colorada, one of the small fishing lodges that dot the remote
coastline of the East Cape between Cabo and La Paz.
I wondered whether Ben was a jerk on the water.
We'd become friendly during the past couple days, but people get wacky when big fish and egos collide.
Some anglers go a little crazy, and fishing becomes a competition. Others get cranky if the fishing isn't hot.
But the really good anglers -- the ones that fish for the love of that first big run, that first big jump and the sights, smells and sounds of the
blue water -- savor every moment on the wild ocean.
I've fished the East Cape for years, and I think it's the best place in the world to catch big saltwater fish on the fly. I also think that a day with
a jerk in a panga is a waste of paradise.
Ben, who lives in Bend, Ore., started fly fishing about five years ago, and this was his first trip for big saltwater fish. I've chased tuna, dorado
-- which is called mahi-mahi in South Sound restaurants -- and other big Baja fish since my teens.
Ben told me that I was his coach for the day, which was weird, as he is retired after a successful career in business, and I'm a just guy who writes
stories.
Yet, I found myself barking out advice an hour or so later, when Ben hooked up to a nice skipjack tuna.
Hooked tuna burn line off the reel. They can swim at 40 mph, and this skipjack was going as fast as he could.
It feels like being hooked up to a car on Interstate 5.
"Just let him run," I said.
Our guide, an excellent fisherman named Jesus Agunda, nodded his head and kept the stern of the boat pointed at the fish, which was now about 100
yards away.
Ben's hand kept stealing toward that reel handle. I knew he was worried that he'd never see the fish -- or his fly line -- again.
"Let him run, let him run, let him run," I chanted.
Ben nodded.
The fish finally stopped, and Ben began pumping his rod and reeling in line. The tuna let him get about half of his line back on the reel before
taking off on a speed burn.
I reminded Ben -- loudly -- to let the fish run.
After another 20 minutes of give and take, Ben was holding his first tuna on the fly.
A first tuna can teach an angler a lot about playing big, fast fish on light tackle, and Ben paid attention.
We hit a slow patch after that fish, and Ben and I talked about writing, boxing -- he was an amateur boxer -- and our families.
And we became fishing buddies.
About three hours later, a big dorado whacked Ben's fly, catapulted six feet into the air and headed for Mazatlan at highway speed.
Ben played the big fish perfectly.
I stood in the bow and didn't say a thing. Jesus looked at me, grinned and said, "Muy bien!"
It was 90 degrees out there, and that dorado turned the afternoon into a sauna for Ben. Sweat ran down his nose and darkened his shirt.
I'm ashamed to say that I drank a cold Coca-Cola.
Ben finally got his dorado -- which was more than three feet long and weighed about 24 pounds -- to the boat.
Dorado and tuna are stunning to look at. They light up in Day-Glo blues, greens and yellows in the clear water. They look as though a child colored
them with the brightest crayons in the box.
It was the biggest fly rod fish of his life, but Ben wasn't done yet.
Ben kept his fish by the side of the boat, as another big dorado had followed it in and was hovering nearby.
Dorado will follow a hooked fish to the boat, and good anglers will keep their fish in the water until their fishing partner can cast a fly out to the
second fish.
Well, I bungled the second dorado -- I think I slapped the fly too hard and too near the fish.
So it goes.
Ben landed his dorado.
An hour later, I hooked a nice skipjack tuna.
Ben quickly got his line out of the way and whooped as line screeched off my reel.
After I landed my fish, Ben told me how much fun it was to watch me sweat on a fish.
I caught beautiful fish on this trip, but my memories of Ben playing that dorado will stay in Technicolor long after the hero shots fade.
And, in about a year, we'll jump into a panga and head out onto the Sea of Cortez for that first screeching run of a dorado -- and the easy
companionship of good friends.
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gringorio
Senior Nomad
Posts: 812
Registered: 4-10-2004
Location: Tucson, Arizona
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fly fishing
At first, when I saw the sea kayaks I thought I'd have someone to paddle with. It turned out to be these guys fly fishing just north of Bahia San
Luis Gonzaga. They were having a great time!
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