More on fishing Palmas Bay
Fishing with Tranquilino
No way to miss Tranquilino. He was the biggest Mexican I had encountered in Baja California. The big guy had many jobs and responsibilities at the
East Cape fishing resort. In the comparative cool of early morning he watered the palms, hibiscus and elephant grass. He coaxed the variegated crotons
to compete with the showy hibiscus, left the whole garden area un-manicured and naturally tropical. His name seemed to fit him as he spoke softly,
moved with a slow, measured grace (knowing how to pace himself for the heat and hard work ahead).
Looking back, I now imagine his appearance near my hammock later in the day, when all the boats were back in, might not have been altogether
accidental. Perhaps he learned, over time, that my pleasure was to share a cold beer or refresco with him while he worked. He was helpful, not mocking
as I stuttered and stumbled with little twisted bits and pieces of his language.
There were times during the day when things got busy for him. At times he was boat dispatchador, maintenance man, in charge of several lively young
boys who did the fish cleaning and storage and much more. My growing acquaintance with the man was probably having positive results I couldn’t see; I
think he made sure my fish were always properly filleted, bagged and stored in the big walk-in freezer where each bin was marked with the room number
of the client. He always got a small propina from me when it was “taxi time”, time to fill and tape and tie the coolers for the trip on the plane back
to Americalandia.
The joy of saltwater fishing is that every trip is different – you never know what to expect. Most trips would find me taking home filets of dorado,
tuna, huachinango, croaker and triggerfish. On one trip I just plain ran out of luck. Just the way the dice landed – nobody’s fault. Others were
filling their coolers but any boat I got on was doomed to a “boat ride.”
Enter Tranquilino: he unlocked the big freezer to find in my bin, room 15, two puny baggies of triggerfish filets. He saw my look of disappointment as
the filets became lost in the emptiness of my big cooler. I said “Malo Suerte”, put on my best driver’s license picture smile and handed him 100
pesos. Most of Tranquilino’s words were lost on me but I did hear “Muchachos”, and “Error”. Then the big man “went fishing” --- he grabbed big bags of
filets from other bins, threw them in my bin, then finally transferred all of them to my big red cooler.
When I got home I was excited to discover I had caught my usual incredible edibles and also a nice bag of wahoo steaks. That was nearly 40 years ago
and Tranquilino has probably passed behind the veil – a place of self-watering plants and fish that clean, filet and bag themselves.
If any of you were around back then, found your freezer bin a little light, just chalk it up to luck – you weren’t lucky enough to have been fishing
with Tranquilino.
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