Alex got it on a CD11 rapala in about 15' of water.
Igor, I will have to eat it to be sure....
Pompano - 1-8-2011 at 06:56 AM
...but I think it could be a spotted rose snapper...bottom photo.
Red snapper
spotted rose snapper
Please send fish with rice.
Grazie.
[Edited on 1-8-2011 by Pompano]Osprey - 1-8-2011 at 07:26 AM
Huachinango, Pacific red snapperSkipjack Joe - 1-8-2011 at 09:11 AM
Quote:
Originally posted by Pompano
Please send fish with rice.
Grazie.
Darn it!
I wish I had known ...
Skipjack Joe - 1-8-2011 at 09:15 AM
It's good to see you posting again, Jorge.
Your stories have been missed.Santiago - 1-8-2011 at 09:31 AM
Quote:
Originally posted by Skipjack Joe
It's good to see you posting again, Jorge.
Your stories have been missed.
Amen
Stories/posting
Osprey - 1-8-2011 at 09:46 AM
Been writing stories that are much too long for the board. Here's a new short one I finished yesterday. Thanks.
The Rumor Mill at San Isabel
I’ve been in San Isabel, here in Southern Baja, Mexico for five years now – just a newbie. Some of the old timers have died off so Lou Flagler, being
here full time for over 16 years is now considered almost like a gringo legend.
There was a strange disappearance in the village about a month ago so I stopped by Lou’s house to see what the old gossip had to say about it. He
loves the chisme, gossip and doesn’t try to hide it. He considers snooping and spreading a social skill, a talent like being able to play the
harmonica.
Lou was hunkered down way back in a corner of his livingroom/patio to keep low and out of the wind; stubborn old codger would sooner sit outside in
the cold assed wind and dust than go indoors like a sensible human being. It was almost too cold for beer but way too early for booze so we just sat
and got caught up. When we had jawjacked our way through the usual, my question about the Canadian warmed him up and shoved the chill right out
through the gate.
Lou said “Well, Merrill, I got my opinions on it but first tell me what you know, what you already heard around the village. Been a month or more so
in a little peepot pueblo like this the story has no doubt already gone around here like Jupiter’s moons.”
“Well, the way I heard it, it all started out with the saw and the dog. Felipe Ortiz and his family had that little dirt street almost all to
themselves after the judge died – he and Felipe got on fine as neighbors for years and years. Then the place sat empty for as long as I’ve been down
here, then got bought by Burgess, the Canadian.
Burgess left his wife up in Canada and came down here snowbirdin’ to work on the house. I seen him around town at Jorge’s having lunch and at the
mercantile buying paint. Big fat man, bald, all business – a man on a mission was my take on him. A very serious sort. Everybody knows there’s just a
three wire fence between the Ortiz house and the judge, I mean the Canadian – sometimes Negro, Felipe’s dog would go over next door and do his
business so that was a sore spot I guess.
Felipe’s kids are grown, both work; Gloria at DIF and Carlos for the water company. So they were usually gone all day and their kids were in school.
So the only other thing that set the guy off was the sounds coming from Felipe’s workshop.”
“I heard the Canadian ordered the police to pick up the dog poop. Did you hear that?”
“No, just that he called about the dog barking, not about the poop. I heard the second time and the third he called was about the saw noise but that’s
hard to figure; I think Felipe mostly used a little thin metal saw like a Dremel.”
Lou said “I never watched him work but that makes sense. Those two metal sculptures of iguanas just over there on the wall, Felipe did those for me.
They’re damned good ornamental art but you can’t use a big saw on that thin sheet metal.
So, Merrill, I guess we both know pretty much what went down. Far as I know you couldn’t find a man kinder or more well liked in these parts as
Felipe. His kids were never in any trouble. His new neighbor disappears without a sign of abduction, foul play and has been missing for a month. It’s
got to be the cops.”
“The cops? Our cops? You can’t be serious. They don’t even have guns. Why would they kidnap the Canadian? There’s been no ransom request. Lou, you’re
losin’ it.”
“No, there’s no kidnapping, they took the guy out in the desert, dead of night, he put up a fight, they hit him on the head with something and they
suddenly found themselves with a dead Canadian in their truck. They pulled up and off paved roads, turned the lights out and went way the hell up in a
canyon somewhere and buried the guy.”
“Why the hell would they have picked him up in the first place?”
“They didn’t like the man, that’s all. When he fought to get out of the truck they just hit him too hard. It was accidental but they were afraid to
fess up to it. One of the cops, Chuy something, is primo, cousin to Felipe. All the cops know Felipe’s family. Besides, you forgot about the parking
thing.”
“What parking thing?”
“Burgess had a habit of parking his big truck backward in front of his house. It was parked that way, illegal, every time he called the cops on
Felipe. The second time, I think at the dog barking thing, the cops gave him a parking ticket. They took him to the commandancia where he raised all
kinds of hell with Alberto, the commandante. They damn near locked him up for that. Alberto made him pay 400 pesos.
The next morning Felipe’s son, Carlos, took the old man to the clinic right next to the cop shop and all the cops could see Felipe’s face was all cut
up and all swole up. Neither Carlos or Felipe would say a word about his injuries. It was about that time the Canadian’s gardener noticed the guy’s
truck was there, the doors and windows at the house were all open but nobody was around – came payday the gardener told the cops.”
“Well, Lou, if the cops were the killers what did they do next?”
“Nothin’. Reported the guy missing, checked the house and closed the doors and windows.”
All that mystery weaving steamed the place up so Lou got us a couple of cold beers from the kitchen, took his seat back.
“Lou, let’s say I bought into your theory. We can’t just do nothin’, keep quiet about it. What should we do? We can’t go to the cops.”
“We go to the real cops, the ministerio publico, the special cops, the people’s cops. I have a friend, Felix, with the policia judicial, a great guy
and a real detective type – not a traffic guy, well trained, dedicated. We’ll sic Felix on the killer cops.”
“You are nuts! What if you’re wrong about this thing? We can’t get mixed up in this thing. You could get us thrown into the calabozo or deported or
worse.”
Lou just started to chuckle, got up, took our empty bottles to the kitchen, came back with refills.
“Relax Merrill, we don’t do anything direct, we spread it around. We get the word out to Elizabeth that the judicial is investigating the
disappearance. We tell Ray that we think Elizabeth has all the dope on it and she thinks it’s the local cops. We get the word to Gordon Frakes that
one of the cops has confessed. Then we leak it to Phyllis that Gordon heard they found the body out behind Campamente.”
“I got one. I let Fanny know that Phyllis said she saw the cop’s truck, at night, with the Canadian in the front.”
“Good, good, maybe let Mike Bleeger overhear you telling somebody about the Canadian’s wife planning to come down here and bring the Mounties.”
“I like it. How about we tell Jorge they got a suspect in custody in San Jose in the no look lockup for his protections? Lou, there’s so much to
remember. You have some paper and a pen? I better write this stuff down, I……”
“No, no writing, Merrill. That’s the beauty part of all this. If you get mixed up, that’s all the better. Just keep stirring the pot until parts of
the story get to Felix. He’ll come to see me and I’ll just play dumb. Just remember you and I never talked, you didn’t stop by here and you don’t know
anything much about anything. While we get the good guys interested in the bad guys we appear as a couple of old fools, has beens who just want to sit
and talk about the big fish we used to catch. Stir it up then bury the stir stick. Get the machine goin’ cachunk, cachunk then disappear into the
gears.”
That’s how we left it last week and I guess it will be a while before we find out what really happened. As I left the patio I was trying to remember
what Lou Flagler did for a living in the states. I think I remember Herby Fry telling me, not long after I arrived, that Lou was with the CIA or one
of those shadow organizations. Then two years ago at the New Year’s Eve bash at Bugeye’s on the beach Tom Briggs said he knew for a fact that Lou and
some Chiricahua Indian woman were making a living selling shoes out of the back of a truck at Quartzsite.Osprey - 1-8-2011 at 10:02 AM
Igor, Santiago, my story is not about a snapper. Just realized I highjacked your thread. I don't know how to move it. Should I just post it again in a
better place?Skipjack Joe - 1-8-2011 at 11:42 AM
I'm fine with it if you are. You may get more readers if it's by itself.
I look at highjacking as a very positive thing anyway. But that's just me.Pescador - 1-8-2011 at 11:49 AM
Hijack away Jorge, could of been that the guy caught a Huachinango once upon a time.
