Gone Bambu

The passage from Hualtuco to Chiapas was really interesting.  If done poorly it could also be uncomfortable or even hazardous.

Here’s the deal.

There are mountain ranges that run along the coastline from Canada, through the US and Mexico all the way down to South America.  These mountains are tall, but every once in a while there is a gap between these tall mountains.  Such a gap occurs at the Tihuantepec Bay in the southern part Mexico.  When a norther comes down through Texas and into the Gulf, it pushes some serious wind and when that pressure hits the gap in the mountain range, then watch out as it comes roaring through there at great speed.

This particular gap is not far from the water on both the Atlantic and Pacific side as this is the skinny part of Southern Mexico.  The funnel effect is narrow at the beginning point where land meets sea and fans out over a wide area as it moves away from the mountains.  The waves build from the constant wind blowing and pretty soon, a few miles (less than 5) out in the middle of the Gulf of Tihuantepec ,you have not only big waves but serious wind. Not a good scene.  Container ships have been capsized by these little “peckers.”

The solution to getting past this geological/ meterological blast is to creep down the coast not more than one mile from land.  The catch is to keep “one foot on land and one foot in the water.”  To avoid running aground every chance you get you must pay attention to navigating.  Although using this method of getting through the Bay is dicey, the wind can blow like crazy but there are no waves to speak of and it just helps a sailboat make better time.

This is what we did and it all worked out, all the way to the port of Chiapas, where we finally checked out of Mexico.

Chiapas is only 8 miles or so from Guatemala so it’s a pretty good spot to say goodbye to Mexico.  We utilized a new marina, still under construction to dock.  The docks are all in but there isn’t any power or water so they don’t charge for the use of the marina.  The marina manager had been recommended to us by numerous other cruisers so we were comfortable with the setup.

We thought checking out of the country was going to be equivalent to having Homeland Security descend upon us.  We read that the Mexican Navy would come with drug dogs, money dogs, immigration, and the health department would show up along with the agricultural department.   Well, they did show up but it was really funny.  First, the port captain was a little on the large side and had trouble even getting on the boat.  He had to literally grab his stomach and push his way into the cockpit.  I averted my eyes and Gayle went down below to check on something.  The Navy boys shows up with their drug dog.  She was very young and very sweet.  The dog’s guide went down the companionway stairs first holding the dog’s leash.  He gave the dog numerous commands to come down the steps but she was having none of it.  He finally (a little red faced) carried the dog down.  The dog (a german shepherd) jumped on the bed, the furniture, stuck its nose in trash, and the handler opened a few drawers.  It mostly left dog hair everywhere.  That was the sum total of the boat inspection.  After questions and lots of paperwork and signatures, we thought, ‘Wow.  Cool.’  But that was just for checking into the port.  They came back the next day to do the same thing again for a check out of the country.  Who knew there were so many formalities.  It was the same group and the same dog.  This time the dog was even more uncooperative.  All she wanted to do was lay on the nice cool cushions in the cockpit.  She was coaxed  down the stairs again but this time she jumped by herself and then jumped right back up to her comfy cushion.  Gayle thought the dog was cute and I suspect she thought the dog’s handler was even cuter.  She seemed to think he had nice buns and offered bottled water to the guy.  She wanted to pet the dog and give her some water, but reconsidered since the dog was a sworn officer of the Navy and I figured the sooner they were off the boat, the better.  After more paperwork and more signatures, we said good-by in our ‘pico’ Spanish and their ‘pico’ English.  It was actually kind of fun to attempt conversations.  I think they were impressed that we try hard to learn and use their language.  A lot of communication goes on between hand signals and facial expressions.  We parted company and were good to go.

Wah-Tool-Co.

This was a much needed surprise.  We could have checked out of Mexico at this place as was the original plan but we decided to delay the checkout until we got to Chiapas, on the other side of the dreaded Gulf of Tihuantepec.

The coast here has several nice little bays, one has a modern passenger loading dock for the big cruise liners that visit here, others have other attractions but all of them have really nice beaches.  The marina is small, spotless and has all the comforts needed by people like us.  Laundry service was picked up and delivered, we had plenty of water and electricity and we had a collection of experienced cruisers to meet.

We also had access to an older Oldsmobile Cutlass 88.  I forget what year but one of the heavy ones that made Detroit proud.  Seems a Canadian cruiser had driven the beast from Canada to Mexico, back to Canada and to Mexico.  By this time the Olds was getting a bit tired and worn out.  The cruiser decided to go cruising so he just left the keys with other cruisers that were there with the understanding that they would just hand it around to whatever sailor needed it.

Our new friends and dock neighbors took us to town, pizza runs, an excellent tour of the area and even a provisioning trip in the Olds.  They had been enchanted by Huatulco for four and a half years with no intention of leaving any time soon, even though they have an excellent trawler.

These folks went out of their way to make us comfortable and trade sea stories.   We are starting to realize that maybe this is the key to enjoying the lifestyle.  Don’t be in a big hurry, help your neighbor when they need it, give them privacy when they want it and generally be a good sport about everything.

Sadly we didn’t stay long enough here.  We have to get to Costa Rica so away we go.

After we left Zihuatenajo,  needed fuel and water so we took a left turn in to Acapulco Bay.  The Yacht Club is on the wind protected left side of the big bay, the rest of the shoreline looks like Miami,  or Ft. Lauderdale, or Puerto Vallarta.  Our first impression was to get what we needed and get out.  It was crowded boats on the hook, mooring balls, and a lot of crap tied around the area.  We found the marina and fuel docks, met with the management of the thing to get permission to buy some fuel and did just that.  They didn’t even have any potable (drinking) water at the dock. (so they said).  Turns out it is harder than you would think to find potable water from a hose.  Normally, there is drinking water accessible via a water hose just like you have attached to your house.  There isn’t a fee for the water since you are purchasing fuel.  But we found that once we left Puerto Vallarta, we couldn’t find water until we were so far south that we were almost to Guatamala.  The snooty factor in Acapulco is about a 9 on the 10 point snooty scale.

Didn’t even drag a camera out.

Acapulco helds no interest for us…so goodbye Acapulco.

The final scenes of the movie “ Shawshank Redemption” had been in my mind’s viewer ever since we decided to turn left to Mexico rather than straight to the South Pacific.  Would it be like the movie?  Probably in the time frame of the movies, it did look like that, still does sorta.

The bay is medium in size and protected by big cliffs and rocks from the northwest give it a rating as a really good place for cruisers to drop the hook and hang there for a while.  There are a bunch of pangas along the shore, all pulled up pretty far from the water’s edge.  Ahhhh.  We now know why – tidal changes and the occasional Hawaii Five O whopper waves.

There is a big concrete pier that juts out into the bay so that tourists may get on and off the many tour boats that work here.  Also a good many charter fishing craft and we’re told cruise ships use it to get their passengers to and from land.

Our first trip in was by oar in our backup dinghy, we’d anchored in a likely spot along with two or three other cruisers.  It was the first time in a long time that I’d oared a boat the half mile or so to the calmest part of the beach.  This was to check in with the port captain and get a first look around.  What we saw from shore was mighty appealing.

Z-what is an old-school tourist area, the newer Las Vegas style tourist mega-experience is 5 miles away in Ixtapa which is just fine, we didn’t miss it.  There were plenty of small streets, vendors, restaurants and bars all clustered near the beach and the pier.  The town is really set up for walking around with wide, covered sidewalks, some art work, small tiendas, and low key improvements.

We finally landed at a beach side restaurant in time for breakfast and a beer.  It’s that kind of place.  It was Saturday and we saw the local fishermen selling their catch to the local residents, mostly very critical women.  The ladies were haggling, looking and buying from the tired but pleasant fishermen.

It went kind of like this.  The fish were laid out on small blankets (having been stored in ice chests) for people to see, then when a choice was made someone would go get the scale, like those you used to see in the produce department of the grocery stores.  One guy would hold the scale by its chain and the seller would put the fish in the basket underneath to determine the price.  They only had one scale to share amongst all of them but the system worked out pretty well.

One thing we noted was the fish were not field dressed, just caught and put in an ice chest, then brought to the marketplace.  I saw one guy walking home with a small backpack and a Tuna tail sticking out of the top.

Fishing is the main enterprise here, we would see these men and boys from early in the morning till dark out in their boats throwing cast nets, fishing with hand lines and occasionally a rod & reel.  The prize winner for low overhead free enterprise were the guys that would simply swim out and start fishing without using a boat.  Very much like our wading out fishing days in Texas City.

One fellow swam out to our boat, handed me a laminated card in English that told of his experience with cleaning boat bottoms.  He had everything with him, fins, mask, snorkel and a hook to hang on to the boat.  We didn’t need him but I admired his style.

We are beginning to see why it takes people years to make these cruising journeys, it would be easy to camp out here for awhile.  We met our fellow cruisers in town at a bar and shared stories, tips, and recommendations on how to get things done.  Priceless company.  After getting back to our boats we even started chatting on the SSB (Single Sideband Radio) which we’d only used for email previously.

One bit of good news, we resuscitated the outboard.  Apparently the immediate flushing with water and WD40, removal of spark plugs and changing of the oil worked.  The Yamaha lives, the dinghy is now named the Leaky Cauldron.

That’s all for Z-town, gotta go south.

This quaint little town felt like Greece.  We were anchored out in front of a moorish looking white washed stone and plaster mini-city that covers a sizeable hill. The main swimming beach is about 50 feet in front of our chosen anchorage.

There are four other boats anchored out in roughly the same area.  We all use a single anchor so that as the wind shifts direction or the current changes all the boats point roughly the same way.  A slow herd like symphony with different players.  There’s a Trawler from San Francisco that’s seen better days, a couple of cruiser-looking 40 foot sailboats, a really small 25 footer that we might have seen bay sailing, and then us. I can guarantee we had the best dinner.

While making our last pass through the now familiar grocery store in PV we found some real gems.  Cracker crumbs and corn flake crumbs in small bags along with a box of Velveeta brand mac and cheese.  Pure comfort food.  The ships gourmet officer rolled the fresh Dorado in egg then corn flake crumbs.  The covered fish flesh then went into our friendly old iron skillet.  The skillet was put on the grill for baking.  Nice. Really worked out to be an excellent dinner as sat in our chairs on the back deck of the boat, muching down on baked fish and mac & cheese.  What’s a vegetable, anyway.

The town covers about half of our view, the later it gets, the louder.  I hear people laughing at a restaurant, the occasional bus crawling up some of the steep little streets here and some sort of disco dance thing getting fired up.  Behind all these noises are the regular sounds of ocean swells making their way into the rocks that line most of the shore.

The trip here didn’t start out so well, in fact it was pretty scary for a few minutes.  We motor-sailed into the bay, dropped the sails and motored in to the small marina located in a calm looking part of the Mazatlan Bay.  Our goal was to stop at the fuel dock to top off the fuel tanks and possibly find a berth there in the marina.

The fuel dock is a fairly long U shaped arrangement more like two L’s stuck together at the ends of the long part of the L.  There was a small sailboat sitting pretty much in the middle of it leaving maybe 55′ between it and the leftmost shank of the L.  In true Larry Myers form, we decided to just go ahead and parallel park this 53 foot boat spot that was looking smaller and smaller.  Sure enough, just like Larry did in Poros we stuck the boat in the hole. It was one of our finer efforts at docking the boat.  Our normal entrance is generally described as “dinner and a show.”

That’s when the trouble began. (for a full and possibly painful description of the aforementioned docking in Greece just ask Larry)

It seems that there is a powerful surge here, with water passing through some culverts into the marina from the ocean just outside.  As the waves would pound into the rock wall that formed the marina, water would surge through the culverts so that our entire boat was shoved awayfrom the dock in a violent fashion and the same occurred when the water receded and we were suck into and slammed against the dock.  We ran lines to all the available cleats and deployed all the fenders.  All of this was just no good as our 26 ton boat was going not only going to wreck the floating docks but it was going to pull the entire structure that was holding the dock in place from shore out of the brick wall. We were going to strip the bolts from the steel and the steel from the dock.  It was scary to watch and we worked hard and fast to get untied and beat a hasty retreat from the marina.  We made our way to this sweet little anchorage not a half mile away.  Those surges seem to sweep under us and crash on to the rocks not 100 yards away.

The original plan was to stay a day or two here in this interesting little euro-mex town, but the winds and currents were not in our favor.   Zihuatenajo was sending sweet messages to us so we lit out at first light and made our way there.

Well, now that the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, and there has been enough time since the actual event, I’m ready to put it on paper and let the story unfold.

We could have drowned today. You read about accidents all the time but they happen to people you don’t know or have a connection with.  Today, in my mind, is cemented the idea that shit can happen to anyone when you least expect it.

The story sets up like this.  We motored out of Puerto Vallarta Saturday afternoon with the idea of sleeping over at Los Arcos, a rock formation on the South side of Banderas Bay, then moving on down the coast. We did that fully knowing that the anchorage was rolly and there was no protection from the swells rolling in from the pacific.  It’s not the best anchorage for sleeping, but as they say, taking the first step is the hardest part and we had been tied up in Marina Vallarta for almost 6 months.

So at about 5 am, we were both awake and decided to take off for Southern Mexico as sleep was elusive.  After motor sailing all day Sunday and all night into Monday we made landfall at the Bay of Tentacatita, a really sweet little bay.  The curvature of the land making for some nice little anchorages that avoid the relentless migration of waves meeting land; a place to rest and sound sleep.

We anchored Monday morning and promptly took a nice siesta as we really don’t sleep all that well underway.

This bay is nice. There is an access entrance to a small river that empties into the bay and promises mangrove jungle tours, complete with exotic birds, extraordinary plant life, and cocodrillos.  There is an enormous beach that provides room for a hotel with horseback rides and a beach-front bar.  What we saw from the boat upon arrival were grass-topped palapas with tables and chairs and a nice looking beach bar.

We launched the dinghy, attached the outboard and chunked in the essentials for an afternoon excursion: snorkel gear, flippers, hats, a bag of other stuff and a cushion to sit on and never giving a thought to needing a life vest.

We motored away from our anchored home toward the entrance to the jungle tour scoping out the best place to make a beach landing. We stayed out a ways watching the wave sets and deciding on the best place to go ashore.  After what we thought was careful consideration, we went on up the coastline toward the fancy hotel and equally fancy palapa bar.

The waves were coming in from the ocean in fairly regular sets and pretty much were the same size, sort of like Galveston on a mild day, maybe two footers breaking on the beach.  That’s fine, we have seen this kind of thing before and we had several successful beach landings under our belt.  The trick is to follow a wave in, just behind the rolling action and put ourselves onshore between wave sets. There is a shelf where each wave begins, a curl develops and you just follow it.

We were there, examining the wave break patterns when we heard a noise behind us.  That noise was a wave breaking that was easily five times as big as anything we had been studying.  Imagine sitting at a stoplight when a Greyhound bus comes barreling up behind you. We’re talking a major Hawaii 5-0 surfing wave looming above us.  We were actually in the curl of the wave, with the height of the wave hovering above us. It was a shocking sight.

I saw the wave before it hit and exclaimed probably the most common expression known to man “oh shit” so that Gayle could prepare for the upcoming thrashing. Gayle and I had two entirely different experiences during this traumatic event.  I throttled up the outboard way too late and the next thing I knew I was under water, being pushed down by the force of the wave.  I did touch bottom and tried to get up to the surface only to be smacked by the next wave.  I lost track of Gayle and was concentrating on making it to the surface and to shore alive.  She can tell her part of the story.

When I finally made it to the surface after numerous smack downs, and could stay above water, I could see Gayle holding on to the dinghy, but it was upside down with the propeller showing and the engine under water. All of our numerous pieces of gear were floating all around.  Our snorkels, fins, hats, bag, and fuel tank were strewn all about.

In a state of shock, we flipped the dink over and started collecting the debris.  The goggles are gone, but some of the stuff was afloat along with other paraphernalia.

We dragged the dinghy on to the beach which was no small feat as the waves kept pounding in and suction of the under current as the water receded was tremendous.  We tried to take stock of the situation.  The dingy, which is an air inflated doughnut with a wood floor had been apparently folded in half as the plywood floor had been snapped in half.  The biggest questions was how were going to get back to the boat. Then other questions regarding the state of the dingy and how messed up is the motor, and where is all our other stuff?

We dragged ourselves across the beach and up to the bar at the Blue Moon resort only to find that they would not sell us a couple of beer as we were not guests of the resort.  They told us there was another bar down the beach.  They wouldn’t even give us a drink of water after witnessing all that we had just been through.

We dragged the broken dinghy about half way down the beach which was as far as we physically drag it.  I spotted a panga about a mile down the beach and set out to find some help.

Leaving Gayle at the dinghy, I walked down to find out who owned the panga at the shoreline.  My Spanish was pretty unimpressive but the arm gestures and bleeding abrasions got the owner’s attention and he understood what we needed. Pretty soon Jose and I were in his panga and on the way back to the dingy. He helped us load the entire dingy into his panga.  Keep in mind that the waves are beating at us, the undercurrent is sucking us out, as we haul the dingy, full of water and sand, along with the motor into his panga.  Then he helped us get the dingy off of his boat on loaded onto ours.  He stayed a few minutes to make sure we were ok and between my poco spanish and his poco english, I learned that he gave panga tours of the mangrove jungle and the river.  I paid him for his time and effort, though he asked for nothing in return for all that he did for us, including putting his boat and livelihood at risk for us.

I was not really sure how this was going to turn out.  I got the outboard back on the boat, flooded it with WD40 and hung the dinghy off the side of the boat using the spare halyard so that it could fully drain.  As a thank you, we agreed to take the jungle tour with Jose the next day to see the sights and then crashed as our adreline rush was wearing off and we were finally able to take a deep breath.

The jungle tour is a panga ride up a mangrove creek with Jose pointing out all the critters that live there.  We saw many birds large and small, Cayman Alligators (maybe actually Cocodrillos), Iguanas and hundreds of colorful crabs hanging on to the small branches that touch the water.

He took us up the creek and down a man-made ditch to a turn-around point inland.  It seems the people that own the snooty hotel also own all this land and are building a marina there.  So all the nature we just witnessed are just in the way of their plans to build a marina resort.  Before long it will be a long canal for the sport fishermen to use.  The birds, crocks, crabs and other wildlife will have to do what they do best, survive somewhere else.

We’ve had all the fun we can stand here and we’re ready to leave town, lick our wounds, having learned a few more lessons, and headed south.

Leaving Puerto Vallarta was a mixed bag of feelings. We really regret stepping away from the comforts of Blake’s Sports Bar and the friendship of Susan and Mike Blake. These two Canadians took us in and shared stories of life in Canada as well as PV, explained hockey and even got into the virtues of Canadian Football as well as Canadian hockey. We were temporary Canadians and got into the Stanley Cup finals and were there for all the games. It was exciting and fun to be with other Canadians, hollering for “our” team.
They were our resource for all things, where to find a cell phone, what holiday it was, and even let us participate in Canadian Thanksgiving.
This is a lesson in letting chance work….we were on the six peso bus and told the driver we needed to go Home Depot. Well, he got it partly right as he dropped us off at Office Depot. Since it was pretty much downtown, it was hot, and there no big box stores in sight, we did spy the banner for Blake’s Sports Bar. The rest is history. After having a few beers and laughing at our misfortune (and getting clued in to the real location of Home Depot) we made friends with the Blakes. Susan’s skills as a chef and Mike’s classic bartender attitude as well as being a sports nut were perfect for us. So hard to say good-bye.
The other person we will miss is Jose, the fellow to maintains the big sport fishing boat in the slip next door to ours. He helped us find workers for jobs we needed done, assisted in our endeavors to shed excess clothing and gear from the boat which passed around to people that needed it. Jose also clued us in to the lifestyle in Puerto Vallarta, particularly around the docks. He was a good story teller and we exchanged lunches. We treated him to American sandwiches and he treated us to the most fabulous yellow fin tuna sushi that he whipped up on the back of his boat. We’ll miss our version of ‘tail gate’ parties with him.

PV was a mixed bag. It was our temporary base, shelter from hurricanes, a place to work on the boat, and a place that allowed us to get to know part of Mexico, a place very different from our own.
It’s funny that we were getting really familiar with the town, but there was a real desire to leave.
We got ourselves ready, left the marina, spent part of a night anchored out near Los Archos then set out in the wee hours to go down the coast.
On to new adventures.

Truth is the grandkids are just fine and aren’t worried about their grandparents as they are 3, 3, .2, and .2 years old, but if they ever get curious it will be nice for them to know their grands were out fishing, big time.  Naturally we have the pictures to prove it.  Hopefully it will entice them to want to come with us and do a little fishing as well.

The fishing trip, aside from being refreshing, exhilarating, satisfying and fun was also wildly successful.  As I think about it, I can’t think of very many fishing trips that could be called fully successful.  Sure, we’ve caught fish before, enough to feed ourselves for a day or two, but never like this.

We also have some new friends here in Mexico, Hector, Mony, and Flaco who own and operate the chartered fishing boat.  Their contact info is bella.del.mar1@hotmail.com, tel #0443221181011.

We agreed to meet at the boat about 6:30 or 7:00 AM to get started.  The commute from our boat wasn’t too bad as their boat was a mere 25 feet or so away.  It was still dark, but the sky was clear and stars were giving way to the upcoming sunrise.

We took an ice chest with beer, ice, and water and made up some chicken salad for lunch so we were about set.  They brought down a huge ice chest full of crushed ice and several armloads of fishing poles and gear.  A word about the poles and reels, the poles were short, maybe 4 feet long and thick, tapering to the width of your little finger.  The reels were big, larger than anything I’ve every owned.  They look like they could pull your jeep out of a mud hole.

We pushed away from the dock and attended to some pre-fishing business like topping off the gas tanks, and pulling into what can only be described as a 7-11 for pangas.  On the shore, with a nice walkway down to the water,  we pulled up and people carried down two big blocks of ice and a few bags of lunch makings –tacos, cokes and water.  The place was hopping that morning with pangas all around, everyone in good spirits.

After that it was a trip out the channel, into the bay and headed to the west, near Nuevo Vallarta at a pretty good clip.  Keep in mind we are calibrated to think that 6 or 7 knots over water is pretty good, this boat was doing 25 knots without trying hard, so nautically speaking it was a blast.  There had been numerous cell phone calls and VHF radio discussions that were too rapid for me to understand but the story came together when we headed right for a panga that was headed for us.  The bait man.  We’ve been seeing a bunch of these little boats around with coleman type lanterns hooked up to propane bottles and really didn’t get the purpose.  These guys fish all night under the lights to catch bait fish with nets and sell them to the charter boats.  This explained a lot as Gayle and I had been looking everywhere for live bait.  There is no store.  You have to go out to where the bait boats are.  They don’t come into shore until their catch has been sold.

The bait was transferred into our live bait well and we were off, stopping at one other bait man and buying a few more little fish.  The bait is a small perch looking fish about 6″-8″ long and vigorous.

We then went charging out into the mouth of Banderas Bay, not all that far from Yelapa, a place we’d been before.  After getting out there, we started trolling with various baits and lures dragged behind the boat without any hits at all.  Seemed like the normal thing to do as there were 10 or more other boats out there doing exactly the same thing.

At all times Hector was looking around, sometimes using binoculars and seeming to be looking for a sign of some type.  Birds, he said give away where the Tuna are so look for birds.  He saw some so we went there.

When we got close he said he could see the fish.  I couldn’t but all I could do was stand back and watch.  They rigged the lines with nothing more than a big hook through the nose  of the soon-to-be unfortunate bait fish.  Flaco casted his line out a ways and just let it sit, a moment later something smaller than a speeding car but just as fast hit the bait and the fight was on.  Flaco set the hook, engaged the drag on the reel and handed it to Gayle.

I can’t tell you when the fishing pole instincts happen, she and I grew up in about the same place, the Gulf Coast of Texas near Houston and Galveston.  She didn’t need any coaching or instructions or told what to do, or how to flippin do it.  She grabbed that pole and started cranking the reel.  I think it may be some sort of Texas Gulf Coast DNA or something as it all came back in a hurry.  She played that fish till it ran out of energy and got close to the boat where Flaco was ready with the gaff.  A gaff is a stick with a sharp hook on the end, he snagged that Tuna and into the boat it came, flapping around, bleeding and throwing fish blood all over all of us.  Flaco literally beat the fish to death with a couple of whacks to the head using a really short but heavy baseball bat and put him in the fish tank.

Gayle hauls in a Dorado

No time for much congratulating as Hector had hooked another one and handed the pole to me.  I did my best, and got the next one into the boat as well.  After each fish was caught and killed, Mony was right on them with a knife to gut the fish, removing stomach and other internal organs so the meat would not be ruined.

After a few minutes of quiet (maybe 5) Hector moved us on to the South, all the time watching the water for sign of fish.

One surprising thing about the waters here is that the recent hurricane had sent lots of debris into the water and it would sometimes collect together rather than spreading out.  Sometimes a large patch of wood chip looking debris would make a little island, floating around.

Most boats steer clear of these debris fields and just keep on trolling, but Hector would aim right for them, then circle around the little islands and start throwing baited lines into the edges.

First one, then another, then another.  As each line was thrown out, it was immediately hit by Dorado (Mahi Mahi).  I think we had four of them on at one point.  The Dorado is a rather odd looking fish, with a rather big head followed by a long tapered body.  The eyes are big and bug eyed, the mouth has two rows of small teeth, the body is green and yellow luminescent colored.  When hooked they go crazy, jumping, running deep, and slicing through the water around the boat trying to get loose.  They keep their flat sides toward the boat so it is that much harder to reel them in.  These guys fight like crazy.

We all hook up for some fast fishing action

During the fight you can look down into the clear water and see them, and their buddies as well, a whole school of these big fish right under the boat.

The skills involved here are pretty interesting to watch, it’s mostly time management.  Hector gets us from place to place quickly with his pair of outboards, Flaco moves around the boat like a nautical Tarzan looking at the water and pitching freshly baited lines in just the right places, usually getting a hit and setting the big hook.

Mony quietly field dresses the catch, keeps them on ice and manages the storage of the Tuna and Dorados.  As time permits she cleans the catch, removing thick flanks of fish meat, packing them on ice in plastic bags.  Everyone knows what to do, even when Gayle and I were both reeling in fish they were tossing baited lines in the water inviting more action.

I can’t say enough about the gaffing of the fish, they even let me take a turn at it and I found it to be pretty challenging to snag a 30 pound fish that clearly didn’t want to have anything to do with us.  The fish are pulled close by the fishing line, but still have enough power to go charging off away from the boat or under it, possibly making their escape.

You reach out with the gaf hook and snag the side of the fish, bringing it into the boat.  The Dorados in particular were pretty good about flapping their fins around so that it slapped your bloody legs and the deck of the boat.  This is where the little bat comes in as it’s time to whack the struggling creature on the head with enough force to kill him humanely.

After setting the fresh kill into the fish box Mony comes along with a sharp knife and removes the internal organs of the recently deceased fish.  Later, as time permits she comes back and fillets the meat into individual bags.

One of the benefits of this kind of hunting is the immediate reward of a nice bowl of sashimi to snack on between stops.

After some hours we were really beat, and it was time to enjoy the pleasant boat ride back to the marina with no regrets whatsoever.  This was the first time that either of us had hired a professional crew to help us catch fish and it was fully worth it.  When you travel to other places and have an opportunity try this sort of thing out.  It’s fully worth it.

At the end of the day here’s what is important to us. Grilled Tuna and Shrimp, cooked on the grill attached to the aft end of Gone Bambu.

See Ya’ll

We were walking down the dock the other afternoon and a panga had tied up to the dock. The folks on the panga were busy cleaning fish, lots of fish.  We’re talking Tuna and Dorado — the pinnacle of fish for fine dining, beautiful creatures being filleted with expert hands.

Those hands were attached to a lovely lady who,with a big smile and broken english/spanish, explained that they were available for charter, for us.  No marital huddle necessary, no exchanging does this sound good? kind of communications between us, only a simultaneous, unanimous, “Oh hell yea.”

As it was hurricane eve, we set it up for Saturday, (tomorrow) when we all thought the weather would be more agreeable and an adventure could be had.  So now we’ve been thinking about it, Gayle defrosted the freezer expecting to fill it up. We cleaned up the ice chest and have it ready to deploy. We were grilling previously frozen chicken thighs as we know we’ll need the freezer space.

While standing on the aft deck cooking chicken thighs (in a lemon pepper marinade), we saw our fishing charter buds pull up with a promising load of fish. We walked over, looked into the boat and saw that there were tuna stacked everywhere. For the uninitiated, a Tuna is about as long as a 3 year old, and weighs about the same.

Amid lots of laughter and hard work, the crew and boat owners were busy filleting the fish and filling up freezer bags. We went by to admire the catch, reverifiying our trip for tomorrow. One of the reasons we said ‘yes’ to this particular group was the easy going comradare and general feeling that we would have a good time fishing with this family. Gayle and the lady of the boat shared some laughs and there was lots of talk of cervesas, and making fun of each other being drunk and driving the boat in circles.

As the lady of the boat was covered in fish blood, knife in hand, slicing and dicing, Gayle decided to take her a cold beer. None for the boys. They pretended to have hurt feelings and lots more laughter. Good idea.

During all of this, we were cooking chicken on the grill (in a skillet, hence, cooking as opposed to grilling), watching the activity on the dock. It was clear there is a buddy system at work here. Those boat boys, the ones who wash the same boats day after day for pesos were coming away with nice little bags of filleted fish. Others, walked up and exchanged money for similar bags of fish.

It brought back memories of earlier times, on the gulf coast of Texas. Beer for fish, money for fish, smiles for fish. Lots of laughter and plenty of fun.

The captain of the boat saw us and knew that we were chartering the next day. He came up and suggested we keep the grill going. A couple minutes later he showed up with two really nice fillets of Tuna in hand. I snatched those two fillets out of his hands and had them on the grill in a moment, a few minutes later we flipped the pieces over, lovely tuna meat, delicate, layered and ready for eating.

By now, we had way more food than we could eat, what with the chicken and now the fresh fish. So we did what we always have done, shared with our friends. We kept some of that divine Tuna, hot off the grill, and put the rest of it on plates which we delivered to our new friends.

Keep in mind, they have been fishing all day, cleaning fish all night with only a beer or two for refreshment. They all enjoyed the freshly cooked fish while continuing to cut up the remaining catch. I think we may have made some new friends.

Tomorrow’s fishing trip may turn out to be a pretty special event. So watch for more stories to come and I’ll let you know how the day went.

~Cap’t D

Statistically speaking, it’s the autumn of my life, over 60 and doing things I never believed would happen.  Nothing wrong with that.

I find myself really happy to be away from the US as I don’t want to hear about the Tea Party, the Democrats, Republicans or other political tempests.

I do believe, however that a rant is in order because I have been wronged.  I didn’t really know it until very recently.  Ok, it was suspected but not verified.

I like Cuban Cigars, and for a long time I figured that it was just too bad that I couldn’t get one when I wanted one.  Kind of like knowing that Disney World is out there and we haven’t been able to make the trip.

Now something has happened to tip my personal scales in favor of pissed off rather than annoyed.

Cuban Rum

Who knew?  I’ve been somewhat indifferent towards rum for most of my life.  Too much of it in college will do that to you.  It never really tasted all that good (same for Tequila, (another recent ahaa)).  Just something you mix with Coke, fruit juices, or other sweet stuff.   It never really had the relevance of a nice single malt scotch, not the ones with that really peety flavor but those with distinctive adult-only kind of semi-spiritual, palate-cleansing aromatic refreshment.

Until now, in Mexico.  I find that not only do the Cuban Cigars taste pretty darn good, even smell nice, there exists in quantity on the shelves in the Rum section of the liquor store some Rums that are made in Cuba.  Hmmm, they aren’t even expensive (96 pesos /750ml) which I think is about $7.50 for a normal sized bottle.

When you get them home all you need is ice and water, no Coke, no fruity-things, no nonsense, just a glass, cubes and rum.  It doesn’t hurt to sit out at the dock in a folding chair, smoking a cigar at about the same time.  Nope, not bad at all.

So why is it that it took me 60 years to figure this out? I don’t think it’s all my fault, I think the government of the United States is the one to take the blame for this.   What is the deal here?  Are they still pissed about Castro? How about those missiles, aren’t they gone by now?  What about all those really talented baseball players, weren’t they welcomed with big contracts in the majors?  Hemingway seemed to do ok in the US and in Cuba.

Why is there a big Cuban hole in my life?

Which leads me to wonder….what else have I missed due to this meddling by the US government?  Cuban Restaurants? Cuban writing?  Visits to meet the Cuban people?

Put me down for a trip to Cuba as soon as we can get there.