Skipjack Joe
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Pangueros at work
I only have 2 pictures on the subject. Perhaps others can chime in.
Here the pangueros are throwing their cast nets for the sardinas to be used as bait.
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Skipjack Joe
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When they throw it it's always perfect. When I throw mine it seldom is.
Pangueros make mistakes too. Zapata fell off the bow on one of these throws. Came up wearing a sheepish grin and sunglasses askew. The cat calls from
the others wouldn't stop. Except for his two sons. You don't make fun of El Padre. No matter how old you are.
Damn! The file is 57KB and I don't have photoshop on this computer. Just use your imagination and I will upload it next Sunday.
Got it now.
[Edited on 9-6-2005 by Skipjack Joe]
[Edited on 9-7-2005 by Skipjack Joe]
[Edited on 9-7-2005 by Skipjack Joe]
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Natalie Ann
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How do they keep those nets from becoming one big twisted ball of netting?
Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.
.....Oscar Wilde
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Bob H
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They even look great....
...when they are NOT working! Kinda peaceful, huh? 
The SAME boiling water that softens the potato hardens the egg. It's about what you are made of NOT the circumstance.
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LaTijereta
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Early Morning in Loreto
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Skipjack Joe
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Bob H
| Quote: | Originally posted by Bob H
...when they are NOT working! Kinda peaceful, huh?
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Dang, that's San Lucas Cove. I bet I know you. Didn't we sit next to each other at a campfire one evening and you shined the light on the Jew's harp
that fellow was playing to show Alex how they worked? I bet that was you. I am really bad with names. Sometimes I have to reintroduced 3 of 4 times to
the same person before the name sticks.
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gringorio
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I posted this on http://www.BajaCaliforniaConservation.org a while back, but here is it for those of you who didn't see it:
A day with the Pangueros
by gringorio
By the time I had reached Bahia San Luis Gonzaga I had seen enough pangas, nets, and flagged buoys to be keenly interested in what a day fishing was
like for the artisanal fishermen on the Sea of Cortez.
I wanted to know what was happening under the water: Where there more nets, more hooks? What were the fishermen catching? Sea bass, turtles, sharks? I
had no idea.
Paddling in to Bahia San Luis Gonzaga I stopped at the first fish camp I saw (On Isla San Luis Gonzaga) and said hello and inquired about a mythical
place named ?Alfonsina?s.? The fishermen seemed to be laughing at me, but I understood enough of their reply to follow their directions and find my
way to the sandy beach in front of Alfonsina?s: restaurant, bar, hotel.
It was there that I ? a sunburned, blond and skinny gringo - stepped out of my comfort level and approached Antonio, el Jefe de Alfonsina?s, to ask
about tagging along with some fishermen to take photos, video, and learn more about what the fishermen do. He turned and pointed to the group of men
he had been talking to before my approach and said in Spanish, ?All these guys are fishermen, ask them.?
Jose Luis and Jose both turned to me as I spoke to them in my poor Spanish: Si Possible, yo deseo ir contigo in la manana para intender mas y para
tomar fotos y video. In a no-nonsense manner, Jose Luis said in Spanish: OK be here at six, six thirty. Bring food and water.
That night I prepared my gear as if I was leaving for a six month expedition into the Antarctic. I meticulously cleaned my camera gear, checked
batteries, chose my clothing, and packed food (quesa dias from Alfonsina?s) and water as if for the first time before venturing into the icy
wastelands.
I was up at 5a.m. lighting my camp stove to prepare coffee and some Quaker grits. Only after three heaping scoops of freeze dried Sanka dropped into
my tin camp cup of steaming water did I began to feel excited and nervous.
I?d previously spent enough time in Baja to know that the outboard motors on many pangas are fickle ? they may or may not start. Or, they may start
and get you to where you want to go, but quit and not start again and were often jury-rigged with rusty wires and decaying batteries. I had visions of
drifting helplessly miles off the coast as Jose Luis and Jose tried desperately to get the outboard going again?
At six thirty Jose Luis and Jose where already on their panga preparing for the days work. The morning was warm and there was a mixture of dry desert
smells mixed with the scent of decaying fish and the sea. Gringorio! Jose Luis called out. I jumped on board and seated myself mid-boat and out of the
way. Buenos dias! I exclaimed to the pangueros.
It was low tide so Jose Luis poled us along the sandy finger behind Alfonsina?s to deeper water. Jose then sparked the outboard into life and we
roared off over the still water only to come to a sudden stop minutes later near a stretched out gill net.
It was here that we were joined by two fishermen in another panga. The net was pulled in and the both pangas raced to the fish camp on Isla San Luis
Gonzaga. Piles of nets have always looked like a chaotic tangled mess and it?s always amazed me that any sense can be made out of such a pile, but
watching Jose Luis and the other fishermen work the bait fish, which they called ?carnada,? out of the net amazed me.
Soon we were on our way north, past Las Islas Encantadas, past the miles I worked so hard to cover in my kayak. Traveling at 30mph seemed like the jet
age to me. The world suddenly grew smaller again and distance seemed a trivial thing. After about an hour we arrived at the ?spot.? Jose used his GPS,
stating This is the place ? 26 miles north of Alfonsina?s and about 8 miles off shore.
Earlier they used a net to catch their bait fish ? probably over 500 fish (sardines, I think) in total and split between the two pangas - but here
they were using hooks and long lines to fish. A technique that Jose Luis told me is called ?Simbra.? 700 hooks placed about 3 meters apart hanging on
about 2 meters of line on a long mono filament line well over 300 meters in length.
The water was flat calm. The kind of glassy day on the Sea of Cortez that can mislead one into thinking that the Sea is a safe and beautiful place to
be. And so the work began.
Jose Luis began by systematically placing the bait fish, which he had cut into pieces on the ride out, onto the hooks then throwing the baited hook
overboard while Jose slowly motored toward the west. This went on for the two lengths of mono filament line that held the 700 hooks. Meanwhile, about
a mile away, the second panga went through the same routine.
Then it was time for breakfast. Both pangas were brought together, tied with bowlines, and out came the propane stove, skillet, and AM radio playing a
station out of Puerto Penasco, Sonora. Eggs were scrambled and tortillas were browned and we all ate our fill. Accordingly, my quesa dias from
Alfonsina?s were reheated and eaten along with everything else. By then it was about 9:00 a.m. That would be the last we ate until about 6 p.m. that
evening.
After breakfast it was time to check the lines. Each panga raced off to their respective flagged buoys and began the laborious process of hauling in
the line. The first to haul in my panga was Jose. Hand over hand, meter by meter he hauled in the line. Sweat dripped off his nose with each pull.
Right off the bat he pulled in an eel looking creature. Muy mal he said as he proceeded to rip the hook from its jaws and kick the dying eel
overboard. Apparently the bite from such an eel is poisonous.
Hand over hand the line was drawn in. After the eel, most of the hooks came up empty. It was then that Jose Luis explained that los lobos (sea lions)
usually stole the bait. We had seen a few nearby, but it wasn?t until later that they really came around.
I have to admit that I was drawn into the excitement of what might come up on the next hook. A shark? A giant grouper? It was like playing the
lottery. Maybe they?d hook a sea turtle. How would they handle that? How would I handle that? I thought.
The minutes turned to hours and the only thing going was a few 'good' eels that could be used for bait. After the first set, we started over. By the
days end they would set the 700 hooks eight times each. After the second set turned up bust I began to lose the excitement of what might be on the end
of each line. It was hot and I was already getting very tired.
By this time los lobos were gathered in full force, maybe 8 to 10 of them were nimbly snatching the bait off the hooks without hooking themselves.
Most hooks were now coming up empty, no bait, no fish. At one point Jose Luis took his spear and expertly sank it into one of the sea lions stealing
the bait. He explained It doesn?t hurt them, but scares them off so we can catch our fish.
It was the second to last set that proved the most profitable: Two ?vaqueta? were pulled up by Jose. Jose Luis explained to me that a good day would
have given them two vaqueta with each set. In all, for over 10 hours work Jose Luis and Jose pulled in five fish, one very small shark, 3 ?good? eels,
1 ray, two ?bad? eels, one starfish, and hooked one sea lion. 700 hooks set eight times.
Jose Luis simply stated El mar esta pobre hoy. The sea is poor today.
The next evening, while I continued to rest and work on my notes at Alfonsina?s I heard the distant roar of pangas approaching. I somehow knew it was
Jose Luis and his crew. I stepped onto the beach as the pangas approached. Instead of going to the west side of Alfonsina?s the pangas raced straight
toward the beach were I stood. In no time Jose Luis drove his panga onto the beach at my feet exclaiming Gringorio!
He was eager to show me the days catch, so much better than to day before. In particular, he wanted to show me the tiburon they had caught. A tiburon
?zorro? otherwise known in English as a thresher shark. I took photos as Jose and Jose Luis showed me the days catch in the hold of their panga.
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gringorio
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More photos
Thresher shark...
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gringorio
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Jose Luis
Setting the long line
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gringorio
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Catching the bait
Before the long line can be set the pangueros need bait fish. Here Jose and Jose Luis pull in a gill net with bait fish in the early morning.
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Pompano
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Mood: Optimistic
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shark fins, etc
Laguna Manuela 1986
In 1978 a pangueros was killed off San Marcos Island when his leg was bitten severely and he bled to death before he could be brought to Sta. Rosalia
Naval Hospital.
A similar occurence happened in the 90's in the same area.
[Edited on 9-7-2005 by Pompano]
I do what the voices in my tackle box tell me.
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Skipjack Joe
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Quesadillas
Great story and description, Gringorio.
I also like your spelling: quesa dias
Makes sense to me. "Cheese for the day". If I had to guess on spelling - that ain't bad.
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Skipjack Joe
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Tijereta
Don't know who you are, Tijereta, but I've been admiring your shots for some time now. Over the months your sunrise/sunset pictures are the best on
the forum by far. All I have to do is look at your avatar.
You seldom communicate with words. Always the images or links to images. You do get your point across.
Anyway, that's a great shot of a panga up above.
By the way, I wonder how many nomads know what a Tijereta is?
[Edited on 9-7-2005 by Skipjack Joe]
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Skipjack Joe
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panga bait tank
Here, the panguero drops the bait into the "bait tank". The bait tank is just the forward part of the bottom of the panga that's flooded. They drill
several holes through the hull just below the water line. Not perfect (bait's dead by noon) but pretty functional. The panguero dumps buckets of water
periodically to replenish the oxygen.
Not a good picture by Tijeretta's standards, I know. But it's informational.
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Bob H
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| Quote: | Originally posted by Skipjack Joe
Dang, that's San Lucas Cove. I bet I know you. Didn't we sit next to each other at a campfire one evening and you shined the light on the Jew's harp
that fellow was playing to show Alex how they worked? I bet that was you. I am really bad with names. Sometimes I have to reintroduced 3 of 4 times to
the same person before the name sticks. |
Joe, I think my wife Audrey and I met you but that wasn't me that shined that light. We sat around and chatted and then I think you offered a ride to
the market later in the evening. We were in a Ford F250 with Lance Cabover.
Bob and Audrey H
The SAME boiling water that softens the potato hardens the egg. It's about what you are made of NOT the circumstance.
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rpleger
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Mood: Was good.
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Sorry to rain on this, BUT are not Long Liners banned from the Sea of Cortez.
These Long Liners catch turtles too.
Richard on the Hill
*ABROAD*, adj. At war with savages and idiots. To be a Frenchman abroad is to
be miserable; to be an American abroad is to make others miserable.
-- Ambrose Bierce, _The Enlarged Devil\'s Dictionary_
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