Pescadores Loco

by Chuck Bunce,
International Man of Mystery

SAN FELIPE -- No one with good sense would travel from the East Coast of the U.S. to the remote eastern coast of the Baja, on the Sea of Cortez, for a couple days fishing excursion. Enter the Idiot Sportsmen. The intrepid trio, in an attempt to establish a new standard for foolhardy behavior, did just that.

The trip involved flying into Phoenix and driving 7 hours, 125 miles into Mexico, to the seaside village of San Felipe. We had not a clue what to expect. What mattered was that we had received an omen in the form of a sweepstakes letter to Levy, 10 years ago, notifying him that he had been awarded a lease on a property in Mexico, "near the ocean." Additional details were appropriately sketchy but this was enough for Mark to dutifully send his $15 a year to hold the lease until we could get down there and check it out. The fact that this was an obvious Mexican real estate scam would not deter the IS from our mission. Some cosmic force was clearly urging us to go to San Felipe. And so, ten years later, having just cleared the last ominous "Military Checkpoint", with night closing in, we found ourselves on a pothole-ridden, no-shoulder Mexican two-lane through desolate wasteland, bound for San Felipe.

We had been encouraged by reports of a "fishing village with a bunch of bars and cantinas" which sounded well-suited to an IS foray. Fishing reports, not a completely reliable information source, spoke of fabulous Yellowtail fishing. I had taken a 6 lb. Yellowtail off of Marina Del Rey (photo, left) on a visit to my daughter in LA and knew it to be a tremendous fighter and good eating fish. These waters were said to yield 25 to 50 lb. 'Tail in generous quantities.

We had made a reservation at Las Misiones Hotel (it was the only one we could find listed anywhere), but repeated attempts to confirm the reservation by telephone had been unanswered. We figured what the hell, worst case we could bunk in at some Mexican bordello. We finally rolled into town in high spirits, about 13 hours after leaving the east coast.

San Felipe was a pleasant surprise. Still authentically Mexican but clearly Gringos were tolerated, if not encouraged. It brought to mind a Mexican fishing village with a thriving tourist beach resort influence. A spin around town revealed many bars and cantinas but no tourists. Las Misiones turned out to be quite nice but like the rest of the town, deserted. We roused a desk clerk who gave us a discount on the best suite in the place and revealed that we were the only guests in the hotel of more than 200 rooms. Very strange. It turns out that we were in between seasons.

He also recommended a fishing charter captain. Our fishing charter contact was happy to meet us early the next morning at the hotel. He was enthusiastic about our prospects but not for Yellowtail. It seems that fishery starts at least 150 miles south of San Felipe. So much for Internet fishing reports. What the hell. Were here. We'll take whatever these waters offer. That business settled we turned to dinner. A spin around town turned up only one restaurant with any noticeable activity, George's. We knew we had a winner with the first margarita. By far the best any of us have ever had--and that encompasses quite a sampling. Of course we proceeded to overindulge in everything George's offered as a reward for enduring the trip down.

The next morning we awoke to a magnificent sunrise over the Sea of Cortez. We made our way down to the beach to meet our charter. It seemed almost impossible to land a boat on the beach and Levy was quick to state that "I'm sure as hell not wading out to the boat." Ten minutes later the Panga, an open 20' boat unique to these parts arrived and made its way as close to the beach as possible. Faced with wading or the option of climbing on the back of the mate we waded to the boat, Levy chagrined as usual. After some discussion we elected to try the 22 mile trip out to the "Island", a granite outcropping in the middle of the sea called Consag Rock. This decision based not on the apparent seaworthiness of the old Panga, but rather on the blind trust we place in charter captains and his chiding of "we can fish close for small fish or go for the big ones." How could we resist that enticement? On the way out Capt. Alex talked of big sea bass as in 60 to 100 lbs. We thought "yeah, right."

As we approached Consag Rock, which can just barely be seen on the horizon from San Felipe, we discovered a beautiful natural sea phenomenon. The rock island rose about four hundred feet out of the water and every non-vertical square inch was covered with Sea Lions, Seals, Pelicans, and Gulls. The cacophony of barking, grunting, squawking, screeching sea animals was like no sound we had ever heard. Sea Lions and Seals played and fed in the water close to the boat. A Sea Lion in the wild is an awesome thing. Appearing to be up to 10' long and 1000 lbs. and completely in charge of its environment. We were mesmerized, taking pictures and commenting on the sights until Capt. Alex once again brought clarity to the situation with his "if you guys are finished fucking around we can go catch big fish." We moved off the island and anchored in 170 feet of water.

The mate prepared a rod and handed it back. Levy, sitting closest to the mate, took the rod and started fishing. Bart and I waited patiently for our rods and just as they were prepared we noticed that Levy was straining, red-faced and sweating like he was either trying to pass a kidney stone or was locked up with a huge fish that was taking all the line off his reel against a tight drag.

"I told you we would catch big fish, now you will see," said the Captain. "Come on, you got to work." Work we did. Levy finally landed what turned out to be the biggest at over 80 lbs. I soon followed with a 60 pounder that almost pulled me out of the boat. Levy boated another huge fish and we all got other smaller ones of 10 to 20 lbs. "Sea Bass," said Captain Alex, "the best fish in the world. Better than Viagra." We couldn't figure why he looked at us and thought we needed Viagra, but oh well. Within a few hours we were exhausted. Our muscles ached in a very painful and satisfying way and we had enough fish to feed half of San Felipe. (See Baja Photo Essay for complete fish pictures.)

On the way back in we began to notice that Captain Alex was a little furtive when we wanted his suggestion for a restaurant that would cook our fish. When we told him that we wanted to put the fish on display on the beach for a picture it was revealed that these fish were protected and we should be discreet. Captain Alex stated that these were okay for us because he had worked a "special deal" owing to his status as an attorney and special friend of newly elected Mexican Presidente Vincente Fox.

He said the "endangered species" protection was mostly to keep the Japanese from decimating the fish. It seems this fish is only found in Japan and here and it has been wiped out in Japan. The Japanese apparently prize a small portion of the meat around the neck as an aphrodisiac. They catch the fish in large quantities and harvest only that small piece of meat, throwing away and wasting the rest. Capt. Alex then invited us to his house that night for dinner where his mother would cook for us.

All this was somewhat unsettling to us as sportsmen. Had we known about the situation we probably would have opted to not keep the fish. That is problematic, however, because when the fish are pulled up from that depth (almost 200 feet where we were) their air bladders are damaged and most of them would die anyway. Alex assured us that he had a special permit and the way he was regarded and obviously respected by the mate and others we met after we got back convinced us that he was a man of influence in this area.

An associate of Alex's met us at the beach with a pickup and we loaded and hauled the fish to Alex' mother's house, a modest but functional Mexican dwelling on a hill overlooking the harbor. There we cleaned the fish and observed that no portion of this catch was wasted. The fillets selected for dinner were iced and the rest of the meat was placed in the freezer. The remaining carcass was taken to be boiled for soup. These fish would be appropriately honored. We agreed to meet later at the house for dinner.

After an interesting lunch of Tecate, fish soup, and the local version of shrimp cocktail at Rosario's on the Malecon, we went in search of Levy's land. This area is characterized by mountains close by the sea. That sounds nice except that the land between and around the mountains and sea is arid wasteland. Scrub brush or barren landscape even running to salt flats. Some developer had bought a huge plot of land that was 10% desirable waterview or waterfront, 90% barren desert. Needless to say Levy's land was somewhere in that uncharted, inaccessible 90% (photo, left). He was offered a discount on an upgrade to a more desirable plot (surprise, surprise). All of this was revealed in an amiable, these-are-the-facts, kind of way. What could have been a complete scam was ultimately a legitimate retirement option for a growing group of Norte Americanos and a nice vacation option for the RV set.

On to dinner. This was a bit of a departure for the IS--self-indulgence and gluttony at a friendly restaurant being the norm. We were to go to the modest home of a relative stranger, in a Mexican village, for a homemade dinner. After a couple of tequila bracers we headed into the unknown. We were warmly greeted by Alex (Alejandro) and fifteen or so of his friends and relatives. It turned out to be a good time with good food and company.

Alex is an interesting and accomplished guy. In addition to his fishing expertise he rose from poverty to academic success resulting in a government scholarship through law school. Along the way he found time to become a locally famous swimming champion and was now serving his obligation to the government for his scholarship as a bureaucrat in the regional government in some important capacity. He also provided legal representation for local residents and businesses. He is an ardent supporter of the reform government of Presidente Fox and wasn't bashful about expressing his opinions of the prior regime as murdering, drug-money controlled gangsters. He was proudly going to Mexico City 2 days hence to sit on the platform with Fox at the inauguration. He also was going to present Fox with a couple of prime sea bass fillets from our catch.

The evening was going well except for the one ex-patriot American neighbor of Alex's who seemed more determined with every beer to monopolize conversation with his own story--and we weren't interested. (The IS have little tolerance for self-indulgence, other than our own.) We also were somewhat disappointed that the group was lacking in that most interesting element (other than fish), good looking women. Although we are largely domesticated with "lifer" marriages and large families, we have never lost our appreciation of, and barely controlled lust for, hot, sexy women--even if it is just to look. We made our exit and took a reconnoiter of the Malecon. The town was still deserted but as a last resort we tried the Caliente Sportsbook and Bar, where, as luck would have it, there were actually a few señoritas decorating the barstools. We had a few drinks while we bantered inanely and demonstrated our ineptitude at the pool table, then left. On to the next day's fishing.

Our charter captain this day, Jose Luis, also offered the options of the Island or reef fishing closer in. Since we had already done the Island we opted for the latter. As the accompanying pictures will attest (see Baja Photo Essay) we had another fabulous day. Constant action taking Corvino (the local version of Sea Trout), smaller and different Calico Sea Bass, Grouper (called Pinto here), and TriggerFish, on light tackle, was the order of the day. When we had a boat full of more fish than we and several families could eat we returned to the beach and had the fish cleaned. We shared our catch with Jose Luis and his friends keeping selected samples of all varieties for our feast that night. As we stood in the water near the beach cleaning fish we were joined by a multitude of pelicans, gulls and other birds. Their competition for scraps was great theater. Pelicans rule.

Two days back-to-back with great fishing is what we came for and what we got. That evening we continued our Margarita research and got a restaurant on the Malecon overlooking the sea to cook our fish. Activity, in terms of our "señorita watch" was beginning to pick up with the weekend tourist influx, which contributed to an altogether excellent evening. The next morning, after a dip in the sea off the beach, we headed back to reality and the long journey home. Another foolhardy but worth-it IS adventure.

Observations:

• After dire warnings and cautionary tales about border crossings and customs procedures we were almost disappointed when we never so much as had to show our passports or even driver's licenses to anyone. Returning to the US the customs guy waved us through with his back turned to us without looking at our car.
• The best Margarita is 3 parts tequila, 2 parts Triple Sec, and 2 fresh-squeezed Mexican limes. Nothing else (except for salt on the rim).
• We took little precaution with regard to Mexican water or ice and suffered no ill effects.
• Mexico and Mexicans, at least as far as the IS experience goes, are great. Friendly, competent and very compatible with the IS attitude.

Don't miss the Baja Photo Essay.