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Osprey
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3694
Registered: 5-23-2004
Location: Baja Ca. Sur
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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."
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Don Alley
Super Nomad
Posts: 1997
Registered: 12-4-2003
Location: Loreto
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Great read, Osprey. Thanks for posting.
I've hooked up with big squid fishing from my kayak. Brings to mind the line from the movie Jaws: "You need a bigger boat." 
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gonetobaja
Nomad
Posts: 286
Registered: 1-4-2004
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Damn!! I had to edit my post!! I thought that story was real!!!! The last dive I did with them in full body armor I got attacked 8 times in 6
seconds!! I was not hurt but I can see that the story above could have been real, no problem. I pray that it never comes true but the senario you
just wrote about could happen easily.
Good Story!!!!!!
GTB
www.sea-wolves.com
[Edited on 11-30-2006 by gonetobaja]
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FARASHA
Senior Nomad
Posts: 848
Registered: 6-3-2006
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What a story - quite scary, and yes, I agree, the SEA is more then just a Themepark for fun and pleasure. I always had and will have, a lot of respect
for what is out there. We should never underestimate the Nature's ( Sea or Land) Power.
Thanks for posting / sharing this story!
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gonetobaja
Nomad
Posts: 286
Registered: 1-4-2004
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By the way guys, My partner Scott Cassell and myself hooked a camera on a 5 ft humboldt and let it go. We had a 1000ft camera cable on it. Down in
the deep a giant squid came up to eat it. We got the whole thing on tape. I saw the tape in the hotel room before we gave it to history channel.
The squid that tried to eat our 5 footer was at least 3x bigger. I know I am just a diver and not a scientest but the forensics guy who viewed the
footage says the squid is massive. There will be a press release very soon on it. They get big in the gulf of CA and they are dangerous. Dont dive
with them unless you have protection.
GTB
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Osprey
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3694
Registered: 5-23-2004
Location: Baja Ca. Sur
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A big mystery to me (and probably marine scientists too) is the when and how of the build-up of amonia occurs. The "why" is because the creature has
a need to use the sea roof to floor in a certain territory and uses amonia like a diver uses weights, ropes, buoys to work at different depths. Catch
a big one at 150 feet, prepare it your special way and if he has built up amonia your palate will have the same taste sensation as if you had just
took the cable off your car battery and tried to suck on the diode. (now how would I know that?)
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gonetobaja
Nomad
Posts: 286
Registered: 1-4-2004
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I have been told that the squid urinate through the skin. The bigger the squid the more the bulidup of the urine (amonia) in the animal.
Thats what I heard....
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FARASHA
Senior Nomad
Posts: 848
Registered: 6-3-2006
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| Quote: | Originally posted by gonetobaja
Dont dive with them unless you have protection.
GTB |
Which would be a body armor and a bundle of Dynamite?? 
I mean I'm not easy to scare, and didn't mind having sharks around me in the past, but I think I would probably wet my suit if faced with one of those
BIG squids.
But - HEY, just one Life to live HM?? And I could get some pampers with me!
BTW- GTB, a good website you got!!Hope to join you some time soon!!
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FARASHA
Senior Nomad
Posts: 848
Registered: 6-3-2006
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| Quote: | Originally posted by gonetobaja
I have been told that the squid urinate through the skin. The bigger the squid the more the bulidup of the urine (amonia) in the animal.
Thats what I heard.... |
 YUK, thats it - no more calamari at the restaurant!!
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Crusoe
Senior Nomad
Posts: 731
Registered: 10-14-2006
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Osprey--- Thank you so much for sharing. You did everything in your power to correct an unavoidable circumstance. Do not blame yourself. Its called
life. Be well----- Crusoe
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