| Pages:
1
2 |
Osprey
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3694
Registered: 5-23-2004
Location: Baja Ca. Sur
Member Is Offline
|
|
A very different Baja fishing story
Guarded Condition
It was way too hot to walk that time of day so Casey and I took my two little green quad-runners to Chapito's to get stuff for lunch, some more beer,
ice for the next morning's fishing trip along the shore of the Sea of Cortez. The store is the biggest and best the little town has to offer. I see
more and more tourists in rented VW bugs stopping there for cokes and beer, ice, on their way to Cabo Pulmo or the beaches out at Frailes. Once in
the store, I knew from Casey's eyes, the way he stood, caught in mid-stride, that he had seen Panchito. The little Mexican was filling the bins in
the produce section with potatoes, onions. He looked up, right at Casey with that dour look; the scars, his posture, the vacancy in his dark eyes
almost telling the story without me.
Panchito spotted me, watched me set down the case of empty beer bottles, limped toward the big beer cooler to fetch a case of cold Pacificos. No
real emotion in his look. He tolerates me, shows me no sign of goodwill or of hatred -- the same blank indifference he gives everyone. Casey watched
him, saw all of this. I said hello to Lupita at the counter, paid and was ready for the question as my old fishing partner helped me lug the stuff to
the motos.
"What's with that guy? He looks like he got run over by a train with a ghost for an engineer."
"Worse than that I'm afraid. I'll tell you the whole story over lunch and a few beers." I put the beer on the bike. My old friend Casey was suddenly
a ghost himself, a harmless, plump Casper, melting, reappearing, a bouncing blur in the clouds of dust thrown up by the big balloon tires of my
quadrunner.
I've known Casey for thirty years. This is only the fourth or fifth time he has come down to fish with me along the shore. I have been fishing,
guiding with fly rod, from the shore for more than ten years, since I sold my last boat. He's never asked me why I don't use a boat, fish only from
the shore. Maybe it's time he knew.
"Casey, that guy at the store, Panchito, is the reason I don't have a boat anymore. He's the reason for a lot of things I don't do anymore."
"You know I've owned lots of nice boats. You remember the Lucianne II, the little Whaler, Mi Sueno? Well this thing didn't happen on my boat. It
happened on the Charmer, a thirty foot Fishercraft. Frank Werner, a big tall, skinny guy I fished with at Los Barriles, hired Panchito to crew and
clean the boat he kept moored out in front of Verdugo's trailer park. It was April second, two days after Panchito's twenty-first birthday. Little
Panchito, no more than five-foot-nothin, a grin like a little fox, could outfish, outwork any two other deck-hands in the area. He had worked for
Frank since he was just a teen, over three years. The three of us headed out at first light, bought some sardines and four or five big bait fish, set
a course for the south end of Cerralvo Island where the recent marlin, dorado bite had been pretty good."
"Twelve miles out we started trolling lures. I put out a bird teaser without a hook. Ten minutes into the troll both reels went off. Frank slowed
the boat, Panchito and I grabbed the rods but none of us could see what had hit the lures. Then we all saw what was happening to the teaser, the
bright green thing that looks like a child's airplane toy. You and I used em, remember, they're designed to skip over the water, make noise, splash,
attract big fish to the lures or bait trailing behind it."
"Squid, big squid, maybe forty or fifty pounds. One had a tenuous grasp on the teaser, unable to latch onto the slippery plastic, the other two
lures with big double hooks were obviously being pulled out and down by big squid. They were schooled up, feeding, right on the surface. Frank and I
could not believe they had been swift enough to catch up to our lures -- we had been trolling at about ten miles per hour. The boat was in a hundred
fathoms of water -- had these deep-water creatures come up to find bait on the surface? There were hundreds of them, many now trying to catch, kill
and eat the ones dragging behind our lures. As we reeled in the lures, more followed, ensnaring the two remaining animals caught up in our hooks.
One fell away leaving the lure free to be reeled quickly back to the boat. The other big squid was hooked good, we had to fend off three or four of
his attackers, bring him aboard with the gaff, return him to his fate." "As the little deck-hand swabbed the rear deck, cleaned up the ink, the slime,
he repeated the words muy peligroso, muy malo, very dangerous, very bad. Frank and I both smiled. Over the years we had heard the yarns, all the
fantastic myth and mystery -- superstitions about killer manta rays, sea snakes, giant octopus, the rare cachalote, the sperm whale whose giant mouth
could eat a fishing boat, fishermen and all. When we found squid on the bottom, when we needed them for bait we simply dropped down a big squid jig,
sometimes two or three hundred feet, pulled up one or two, threw them in the bait well -- you need only to avoid the beak in the center of the
tentacles, the mouth of the animal, just below the head. The beak looks just like that of a huge parrot, sharp and menacing. The tentacles feel
spooky when they latch onto you but when you pull them off, expecting to see big red circles left by the suckers, usually there is only a slight
discoloration of the skin. After you bring them in with the gaff don't let the things get enough grasp on your hand, arm, that they can pull it up
near the beak."
"We could see the first set of buoys near Punta Pescadero on the horizon to the north. We motored at half throttle to a point near the second set of
buoys just a little farther north. I popped my first beer of the day taking in the cobalt water, the morning mist obscuring the island, the smell of
bait and engine exhaust. While Frank and Panchito rigged for bait, threw some sardines out near the buoy to bring up some fish, I took the helm."
"I saw the piece of yellow nylon rope floating next to the white foam buoy -- I supposed it was attached to the buoy, paid it no attention. Suddenly
the motor chugged, balked, jumped; I killed the motor. I knew what had happened -- we had run over the piece of rope, picked it up in the prop, shut
the whole thing down. Frank and the Mexican looked over the stern and confirmed the problem. In the next few minutes we all tried to get a grip on
the rope, unwind it but none of us could reach it, get a good grasp--somebody was going to have to go in the water. Who else, the young Mexican.
Panchito looked up at Frank, then at me, hesitated, looked around for another boat which might be close enough to come over, lend a hand. Frank said
gosh darnnit, started to take off his shirt.
The little Mexican said "Okay, Okay, yo voy, I'll go".
"Panchito took some pesos, cigarettes and matches from the pocket of his tan shorts, took off his cap, rolled the stuff in the cap, dropped it on a
bench seat, slid over the side. Frank leaned over the stern to help the little guy and give instruction. I was on the rail watching the boat drift
slowly away from the buoy. It was deadly quiet. I looked deep below the boat and back towards the buoy, where we had chummed with handfuls of
sardines. The small bait fish sparkled like flakes of platinum against the royal blue water. I was hoping to see dorado teased up to this small
meal, showing the distinctive golden fire they flash from gill to tail when feeding."
"Then I saw them. The squid. At first just glimpses of rust red hulks darting out to take the small silver bait fish. Two, then a third, then a
group of ten or more coming up rapidly from the depths of the boat shadow into the blue-green clarity that was the upper sixty feet of water at the
surface. Frank, I think I yelled Frank. He turned, saw my look, my hand pointing, I was yelling squid, squid, get him up here, get him up here. In
the second it took us to run to the stern rail, the squid had reached the Mexican's feet and legs dangling beneath his slim body. Before we could
reach him the first big animals had him by the legs, began to tear at his flesh. A scream like that of a small child died in his throat as he lost
his hold on the motor housing, was pulled beneath the surface. Now the creatures were all around the stern boiling the surface water with the pumping
of their swimming tubes."
"I threw a boat cushion in the water, Frank got both gaffs. We were both afraid to go in the water. The little Mexican was down there fighting for
his life and we could do little to help him. Frank thrust the long handle of the gaff below the surface as far as he could reach -- perhaps Panchito
would see it, grab it. The Mexican kid broke free for a second, did not find the gaff handle, grabbed for the boat cushion, pulled it under -- the
squid were weighing him down, a biting writhing blur now disappearing in the shadow of the boat. My boating partner turned the gaff around and
quickly hooked the handle of the cushion as it disappeared under the boat. We both pulled with all our strength, a brief tug-of-war; a contest of
life or death for our little friend. Panchito and the animals were no longer visible, lost in a cloud of blood and ink. The boy got a second hand on
the handle of the cushion, fought his way to the surface. I gaffed a big squid attached to his head, neck and right shoulder -- I was careful to
point the big hook away from the boy. As I wrested a second animal from the boy's hip Frank pulled so hard that, as the weight of the creatures was
released, Panchito was literally pulled up and into the boat all in one motion. I gaffed a big squid still wrapped around his foot, pulled it clear
and dropped it over the side."
"The little guy was a mess. He'd taken on a lot of water. Didn't need a whole lot of CPR, just a few pushes on his strong, young chest and he was
breathing, spitting up cups of sea water. I took off his T shirt, looked him over to assess the damage. He had received inch-deep lacerations from
the ugly beaks in more than a dozen places. The deepest was a wound behind his left knee. Luckily his neck arteries were free of damage. Two of his
toes were mangled, his cheek was an open wound. Most of the wounds were serious but controllable -- Frank and I were both worried about the one
behind the knee, pumping blood at a dangerous rate. I compressed the wound and made a tourniquet for the left thigh while Frank used the emergency
radio band, reported the whole situation to the clinic and to the office of the Port Captain. Then he gave the same message to the local talk channel
asking for boat assistance. The boy was unconscious, in shock, cold to the touch. We got him under the shade, covered him, began to compress the
other wounds. All we could do now was wait for help -- wait for help and pray."
"A hotel boat, a cruiser from Palmas was the nearest boat. They took the kid in as fast as that old hulk could go. It was a guy in a twenty seven
foot Stephens, I think it was Chuck, Chuck something who pulled us back to our mooring buoy. By the time Frank and I got to the clinic the kid was
already in the hospital in La Paz. When we called they said he was in guarded condition. I will never understand those hospital terms. We didn't
really find out how he was doin? until they let us see him almost a week later."
"He was asleep. He was in a nice, white room in the General Hospital. His wounds had all been attended to, were healing. The doctors said he might
have some long-term problems with his left leg and his right foot. A doctor Ortiz asked me if the boy had a speech problem. My first thought was
that Frank and I had failed to see a wound on the neck, one that might have affected his voice box. We told him the boy was speaking fine before the
accident. The doctor looked both of us in the eye, shook his head in a way that I will never forget."
He said. " No es una accidente, Senores."
"I don't know if it was me or Frank who said the word accident. I've tried to remember exactly, I really have -- I'd like to think it was Frank but
I could have said it." "Well Casey, Panchito got better. He has a job. He gets along. As far as I know he has never uttered a single word since we
pulled him from the water. Whatever happened down there, in just those few chilling moments, the sheer terror of the thing changed everything for the
little guy. It changed everything for me, Frank, other people. What he experienced took away his speech, his happiness, his chance at a good life.
Left him with nothing but nightmares. It's my fault. I can't change what happened. I have relived the thing over and over a million times; what's
it been, ten, twelve years? I played the thing every which way -- self-doubt, shame, recrimination, denial, acceptance, self-pity, start over.
Margaret, gone. Boat, gone. Almost got rid of this place just to get away from here, from the water, the memories of the accident."
"Gringos think money can solve all the problems of the world. Frank's father-in-law had been a high-paid attorney for the New York mob, had a ton of
money, loaned some to Frank. When I wasn't drunk I'd help Frank try to sort out our legal financial responsibilities to the little worker from our
moral obligations. It got very complicated. In the end a little over $20,000 from Frank and about $8,000 that I had to scrape up was put in the
right hands to set the matter straight. The boy could draw the money from an account at IMSS, the Mexican Social Security Department, so much a month
until the money was gone. After that he would get his small monthly payment from the government in accordance with his disability. His sister, Marta
could read and write. Panchito lived with Marta and her husband; she would help him with the money, look after him, help him find work. A Mexican
attorney working for the government in La Paz assured Frank and I, in writing, that our legal obligations were fulfilled for all time."
"Frank went back to Oregon in `94. I stayed around. I don't know why."
"I saw a new truck in front of Marta's house. I don't think the money lasted all that long. At first the sister was quietly receptive when I
stopped by to see how her brother was doing. Not more than eight or nine months later, when I went to the house, started to get out of my truck, she
came through the door, yelled via te, go away. I still see her around town. She looks right through me."
"Casey, now when I'm on the shore, walking, fishing, I look out to sea, watch the big cruisers flying by to get to the early tuna bite. On those
boats there are guys like me, Frank. They think the sea is their own private fish market, their own theme park, all fun and games. They become
experts in all the things under the sea. That's exactly what I used to think. I want to reach out to them, pull them aside, talk to them. Remind
them to listen, listen to the fishermen before they chalk up talk about the creatures of the sea to myth, superstition, go over to the little store,
Panchito can tell you, just with his eyes, that in your big, blue theme park, some of the monsters are real."
|
|
|
Eli
Super Nomad
Posts: 1471
Registered: 8-26-2003
Location: L.B. Baja Sur
Member Is Offline
Mood: Some times Observing, sometimes Oblivious.
|
|
Osprey, that one hit kind of close to home. You gave me lots to chew on there. Yep, that was quite a story, whewwwwwwwwww, sh*t, oh dear, dang.
|
|
|
Frank
Senior Nomad
Posts: 861
Registered: 6-5-2005
Location: San Diego
Member Is Offline
Mood: Is it time to leave yet?
|
|
Great story Osprey. Your message wasnt lost on me, but I still have to fish. The humboldt squid is a top predator, we had a huge mass show up in San
Diego this year up to 50# just off the beach. The tentacles are not suckers, they are ringed with teeth. We brought a few home for Calamari. We
stopped catching them because the moment you hooked one the others would attack it. CPR would be a waste of the resource.
This is a close up of the tentacle. I have more, ill post them if anyone is interested.
|
|
|
oladulce
Super Nomad
Posts: 1625
Registered: 5-30-2005
Location: bcs
Member Is Offline
|
|
Holy ....!
Can't even respond. Feeling paralyzed.
|
|
|
Skipjack Joe
Elite Nomad
Posts: 8084
Registered: 7-12-2004
Location: Bahia Asuncion
Member Is Offline
|
|
Panchito
Madre de Dios, Santa Maria! Is Panchito all right? I will never pass one of those roadside nurses north of San Quintin without thinking about poor
Panchito. Pobrecito. And so young, too.
Well, Osprey. We've had Melville and now Jules Verne. What next? Whatever it is I am looking forward to it and I am sure you won't disappoint us.
You know, after reading the first story I thought Osprey was wrong for you. Ahab - would have been much better. Now I am confused. I'll come up with
something.
|
|
|
Baja Bernie
`Normal` Nomad Correspondent
Posts: 2962
Registered: 8-31-2003
Location: Sunset Beach
Member Is Offline
Mood: Just dancing through life
|
|
Osprey
Really plucks at the heart strings.
Another example of what Baja can truly be about and that is not all fun and games as most think.
Thanks for sharing a very sad event that just had to alter your atitude toward the tightrope that many people are forced to walk in their everyday
lives in a 'Bit of Paradise'---that can be most unforgiving and harsh.
My smidgen of a claim to fame is that I have had so many really good friends. By Bernie Swaim December 2007
|
|
|
jeans
Super Nomad
Posts: 1059
Registered: 9-16-2002
Member Is Offline
Mood: Encantada
|
|
A chilling tale, expertly told.
And just when we thought it was safe to go into the water again.  
Mom always told me to be different - Now she says...Not THAT different
|
|
|
Oso
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 2637
Registered: 8-29-2003
Location: on da border
Member Is Offline
Mood: wait and see
|
|
I am just totally blown away. I don't think I'll ever regard the little ones in quite the same way as I cut them up for bait. You have a talent for
writing. I hope you make the most of it.
All my childhood I wanted to be older. Now I\'m older and this chitn sucks.
|
|
|
Skipjack Joe
Elite Nomad
Posts: 8084
Registered: 7-12-2004
Location: Bahia Asuncion
Member Is Offline
|
|
| Quote: | Originally posted by Oso
I hope you make the most of it.
|
Oso, you, too, have a talent for writing.
|
|
|
Mike Humfreville
Super Nomad
Posts: 1148
Registered: 8-26-2003
Member Is Offline
|
|
Truly well done Osprey!
|
|
|
surfer jim
Super Nomad
Posts: 1891
Registered: 8-29-2003
Location: high desert
Member Is Offline
|
|
Thought sharks are the worst things for surfers (except for other surfers)....and now this......
|
|
|
Santiago
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3499
Registered: 8-27-2003
Member Is Offline
|
|
Holy moly - I don't think I even breathed while reading this one, Osprey. Next time we get fishing line around the prop - I'm sending Andy in to
clear it - he doesn't read this board.
|
|
|
bajaden
Nomad
Posts: 496
Registered: 4-7-2005
Location: Ensenada
Member Is Offline
Mood: vicarious
|
|
A story that hits home. I think the monsters lurk within us, hiding until the right moment. I used to run a privite liscened pheasant club. We were
open on saturdays and sundays. My partner Jasper and I would devide up the dutys. He took saturdays and I took sundays. It was a windy cold march
sunday. I went out at 6am and planted 40 birds on 200 acres. We had and old house trailer for a club house. I went back to the clubhouse and waited
for the members to show up. It was one of those days that felt weird for some reason. I had an uneasy feeling all day. No one showed up. At 1 o'clock
my wife showed up with her son, Richard. He was my stepson. I had taught him to hunt. Made him go through hunter safety class, etc. I once made him
hunt all day without a shell in his gun because I caught him hunting without the safety on. They had brought me a lunch and the sunday paper. I was
surprised. I hadn't expected them. Richard asked me if it was alright to go hunting. I told him it would be ok and that there were plenty of birds out
there because no one had shown up. He and my wife Gail headed out together down toware the end of the property. I sat there for about another hour or
so, and decided that if no one had shown up by now they probably wern't going to. I locked the trailer and headed down the field with my dog
bisquit. I was walking on a levey up above the field headed toward them when my dog went on point. I really didn't feel like shooting a bird, but
bisquit really got ticked when I didn't. Oh well I thought. I stepped in and flushed the bird. A nice rooster. It flew to my left over an irrigation
ditch. I swung through the bird and dropped it. Bisquit never let a bird get away, but she was 2 years old and had never retrived a bird.
I thought damm, why did I shoot that bird. Now I have to go get it. I was using a remington 1100. I usually hunted with my Browning over and under.
Its funny how the choices we make that don't seed important at the time come back to haunt us. I hadn't used the 1100 since I don't know when, but for
some reason I picked it up that morning.
I put it on safety and laid it flat on the ground. I laid it so it was pointing out into the field that was the opposite direction from the where I
had shot the bird. I started to slide down into the irrigation ditch when I saw bisquit coming back with the bird in her mouth. I was estastic. She
was finally retreiving.
At the sound of the shot, my wife and Richard started ploding up the field to see what I had shot. At the moment they arrived I was climbing out of
the ditch. They were down in the field and I was up on the levee. At that precise moment in time, my life changed forever. Richards dog came bounding
up onto the levee. Its foot stepped on my shotgun. It had a trigger safety. Its foot hit the safety button and the trigger at the same time. The gun
went off catching Richard right in the face, and killing him instantly. Gail sat there holding him. Telling him everything was going to be alright. I
had been to veitnam. I had seen dead people. It was all a bad dream. All I wanted to do was wake up.
The word if, sometimes guides or lives. What if I had done this. Or what if I had done that. Why had I picked the 1100 that morning. If it had been my
over and under it wouldn't have happened. For years I couldn't forgive myself. Neither could my wife. Were no longer married. But I finally convinced
myself that Richard would have forgiven me, because I really hadn't done anything wrong. I was given a burden to carry. We all are, just different
ones. Its what we do with them that matters.
|
|
|
Santiago
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3499
Registered: 8-27-2003
Member Is Offline
|
|
All of a sudden my problems aren't all that major.....
|
|
|
Gypsy Jan
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 4275
Registered: 1-27-2004
Member Is Offline
Mood: Depends on which way the wind is blowing
|
|
I am so sorry for your loss
Thank you, Osprey and Bajaden for the courage it takes to share these heartwrenching stories.
It hurt me to read the words, I can't imagine what it costs you to put it out here for cyberspace strangers/virtual friends to read.
Please allow yourself the grace to forgive yourself. You have already paid in full and at a very dear price.
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow mindedness.”
—Mark Twain
\"La vida es dura, el corazon es puro, y cantamos hasta la madrugada.” (Life is hard, the heart is pure and we sing until dawn.)
—Kirsty MacColl, Mambo de la Luna
\"Alea iacta est.\"
—Julius Caesar
|
|
|
Skipjack Joe
Elite Nomad
Posts: 8084
Registered: 7-12-2004
Location: Bahia Asuncion
Member Is Offline
|
|
War of the Worlds
Back in the 30's Orson Wells read (over the radio) HG Wells story about alien space invaders so convincingly that people started to barricade their
doors and protect themselves from these creatures. This was followed by radio broadcasts telling them not to worry - this was fiction.
Well, before some of you embarass yourselves any further - Osprey's yarn is just that - fiction.
My post about poor panchito wasn't sincere. I was just playing along in the spirit of things. Squid don't really attack people. You divers out there
are probably grinning from ear to ear.
It was all fun and games until bajaden posted his story, but now it ain't so funny anymore.
[Edited on 6-14-2005 by Skipjack Joe]
|
|
|
Sharksbaja
Elite Nomad
Posts: 5814
Registered: 9-7-2004
Location: Newport, Mulege B.C.S.
Member Is Offline
|
|
I feel your loss
In the course of our life we encounter obstacles and accidents all along the way.
I am touched by the personal accounts by Bajaden and Osprey. May we be so lucky not to have such tragedies befall us. Especially when the event
happens in our presence.
As a former dive accident tech I have beared witness to a number of casualties. It was so different than the scenarios you/we talk of here. Because I
was not at the accident scene I could not feel the emotion and circumstances leading up to the tragedy. It became a medical emergency and emotions are
replaced with immediacy. Guilt and retrospect come later.
When my brother died in a freak mountain accident, it changed my whole perspective of fate.
Being a very accomplished moutaineer, my brother John spent a good portion his spare time seeking and backpacking the Pacific Crest Trail and
ice-climbing in Yosemite and other places.
Not only that, but as a lead engineer for Teledyne he had the intellect as well. This guy was fearless; he would tackle only the biggest waves at
"The Wedge". He would freedive and impress all with his underwater talents. His gusto for life and sports most admirable. His bedroom was wallpapered
with topo maps, and his Power Wagon a "one of a kind" in those days 37 yrs ago. He married a gal from Quebec(mistake) and they adopted a 11 mo old
Korean baby. He looked just like Buddy Holly and his intelligence was something to be marveled. A mathematic genius and self-learned(my Dad helped)
this man with little college evolved into the epitome of the American Gentleman scientist. He once said to my mom, "I'll never live to 40"
He was right, at 39 he lost his life. How? Just a little trip up the Angeles National Forest for a day of sightseeing the day after Christmas. The
mountain had seen quite a bit of snow the weeks leading up to Xmas and it was very beautiful. The roads were clear but sanded for ice. From the
mountain pull-out one could see for miles out over the clear L.A. basin. My brother was always looking for a great place to hike or climb.
He got closer to the edge of the abrupt drop-off. Little did he know that the snow was glossed over from a freezing rain the night before. He slipped
in his tennis shoes and fell 1600 ft down an "ice-chute";so called because they act like a toboggan run. It took twelve hours for crews to find his
body at the bottom. AS fate would have it. I arrived as they were just reaching the road with him. He is forever in a place he loved most.
I will not discuss the insuing years but that ill-fated step changed many lives forever. Just like yours.
P.S. Osprey, you just scared the hell out of someone who used to dive in and around sharks and not worry much about it!
[Edited on 6-14-2005 by Sharksbaja]
|
|
|
Mike Humfreville
Super Nomad
Posts: 1148
Registered: 8-26-2003
Member Is Offline
|
|
Wrote a story about these big guys, a true one, where John and Barsom and I were at the north end of Smiths in Bahia de Los Angeles and we all three
were dropping down east of Coronidita and our lines all went flat at the same time. We figured we were tangled with ourselves and started to
retrieve. We had Humbolt's and they hit the surface pretty much at the same time, two propelling themselves 5 feet into the air and spraying ink
across our chests with a force that almost knocked Bar outta the boat. I had a shirt for years after this that I couldn't get the ink out of. The
three beasts fell into my 14' aluminum and were coming after us (in our minds), slushing their slimy tenticles around our lower extremities with us
shaking them off and bashing them with oars and anything else we could find.
But, in the end, it was not us they were after; they were just trying to protect themselves and get rid of those damned hooks and find their
salvation: saltwater.
By the time the ordeal, quickly unfolded, was over, we had three 5-foot squid in the boat, dying. We took them back to La Gringa, cut out the mantel,
dropped them in boiling water for just a minute and then removed the membrane from both sides.
I just recently, from friends at Camp Gecko's, learned how to properly prepare this true delicacy.
We sliced it into small "fingers." Then we let it dry thoroughly. Then we dredged it in flour, ran it through milk mixed with egg, and then breaded
it with empanizar (a Mexican cracker-crumb crunchy stuff) and then deep fried it until it was golden. No condiments necessary.
I know, I know, this should be on the recipe forum. But try it.
It's especially handy when three giant squid almost commit suicide in your boat and you don't quite know what to do with the poor beasts. I guess we
learned from the other elements of Baja: just use what presents itself.
Once again, Osprey, thanks for the provocative thread.
And, as we posted at the same time and I didn't see it: Sharksbaja, here's to your brother. There are many ways to live life to the fullest.
Intensity versus length are in conflict I think constantly.
[Edited on 6-14-2005 by Mike Humfreville]
|
|
|
surfer jim
Super Nomad
Posts: 1891
Registered: 8-29-2003
Location: high desert
Member Is Offline
|
|
I fell for that story "hook, line, and sinker".....
|
|
|
Sharksbaja
Elite Nomad
Posts: 5814
Registered: 9-7-2004
Location: Newport, Mulege B.C.S.
Member Is Offline
|
|
not me...
.... I believe every tentacle
The Amazing Flying Squid!
? H ? Personal :: Eric Augustus :: email link
Fishing crew near Sitka catches unusual jumbo flying squid
5-foot specimen shipped to California for research
The Associated Press
(Published: October 18, 2004)
SITKA -- A large Humboldt squid caught offshore from Sitka is among numerous sightings of a species that had never been seen before in waters of the
Far North.
Until this summer, there have been no other sightings in the north, according to Cosgrove.
"It's unprecedented," he said. "It speaks of a fundamental change in the ocean along the coast."
The Canadian museum is keeping a 61/2-foot, 44-pound Dosidicus gigas in a formaldehyde tank. The animal -- a purple-bodied cephalopod with two eyes,
eight sucker-covered arms and two curly tentacles -- was caught Oct. 2, the first of the species recovered from British Columbia waters.
Cosgrove has received seven more reports of other sightings since late July of jumbo squid in northwest waters from Oregon to Alaska. Besides the
Sitka catch, the squid were spotted near Yakutat and Kodiak Island.
Hochburg is researching the northern distribution of the species. He has collected other specimens this summer and has information on them dating back
more than 100 years.
Hochburg plans to compare Otness' squid with the others and hopes to determine its origin.
"We'll try to get a handle on 'Are they moving north with warmer waters, and then do they die out as they head north, or does the cold water constrain
their northward movement?' " he said.
The 14-pound squid caught off Sitka is one of several marine species usually found in warmer climates that have been seen or caught in Alaska this
year.
The first thresher shark to be caught in 14 years in Sitka Sound was caught last month. Two rare great white sharks were spotted in Southeast this
summer, and the carcasses of a hard-shell turtle and a jack mackerel were also recently found in this region, far north of their usual habitat.
Bruce Wing, a biological oceanographer with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration in Juneau, attributes the presence of warm water
species to an increase in ocean temperatures.
Wing said water temperatures throughout the Pacific Ocean have been higher than usual all summer. The latest figures for Sitka, he said, show the sea
water is 2 degrees Celsius above average.
Currents also are a factor. Wing said that if an animal moves beyond the border of the North Pacific Transition Zone it will get caught in a northerly
current that could bring it far beyond its usual range.
Otness, who has fished in Southeast Alaska for more than 30 years, said the squid he caught was part of a school that may have numbered in the
thousands.
"They were hissing and spitting," he said. "One of them even tried to bite my deckhand."
The 5-foot Dosidicus gigas, or jumbo flying squid, was shipped last week to California to be kept for research at the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural
History.
The squid was one of a number caught with a dipnet by Petersburg fisherman Alan Otness and his crew Sept. 18 as they baited longline gear at night.
They brought back some of the creatures for examination by experts.
Eric Hochburg, curator of the Santa Barbara museum, said the species is usually found off Baja California and farther south. They make their home deep
in the open ocean, rising to the surface at night to aggressively feed on small fish using barbed suckers.
"It becomes sort of newsworthy when they move out of Mexico into California and farther up," Hochburg said.
The farthest north the species has been reported until this year was off the coast of Eugene, Ore., in 1997, said James Cosgrove, manager of natural
history at the Royal British Columbia Museum. Before that, the farthest north the jumbo squid was seen was near San Francisco, Cosgrove said.
posted Mon, 10/18/04
[Edited on 6-15-2005 by Sharksbaja]
|
|
|
| Pages:
1
2 |
|
![[*]](images/xmbforum/default_icon.gif){kind=icon}
