To catch a fish the New Yorker way
(Published in the August issue of Land's End magazine)
True story 1995
W ell, you might have heard that Cabo San Lucas has the best sport fishing anywhere in the whole wide world. Of course one would imagine a perfect day of sport fishing by getting up at 5:30 a.m., prop your eyelids open and drag yourself down to the marina, then being welcomed on the fishing charter boat you may have spent $1000 US for the day or ‘mucho dinero’ more than that. The best part about chartering a fishing boat is that the crew is ready to go, well trained in the skills of fishing from birth, the bait is already caught and sitting in the live bait cooler, the beer and sandwiches are ready for your lunch and of course the captain has charted a course of where you will be going for the day to catch that big black or blue marlin, an award winning sized blue fin tuna or even a grouper! (Grouper is the best eating fish ever) You have even thought far enough ahead and brought your own igloo cooler to take your fresh filets home, which will be sitting in first class on dry ice! Everyone back home will be feasting at your next BBQ on freshly caught fish from the Sea of Cortez. You will be a sport fishing superstar back home in Fargo.
It has to be mentioned too that the ‘thrill seeking’ part of sport fishing has to be at the ‘top of the list’ of reasons for even spending the big money on a boat charter. Last on the ‘thrill seeking’ list is roasting in the hot sun for 8 hours, being violently thrown around a small boat deck while gripping tightly onto a large fishing reel with a 200 pound fish on the other end pulling your shoulders out of your sockets. Last but not least is breathing in the diesel fumes. Add all that up with a wicked hangover - well worth the money!
There is another way to catch a fish.
Two men, Kenny and Mike, were sitting on the beach, chairs leaning back at a slight angle soaking up the sun talking about their luck in finding such a paradise as this, with a warm ocean breeze and an endless white sandy beach in Los Cabos. Not another person in sight in either direction along the pristine Corridor beach situated exactly center of the two towns, San Jose and Cabo San Lucas. Of course, there were a few sport fishing boats bobbing along adding to the already magnificent view. These two ‘locals’ were waiting for their fishing buddies to show up from Washington so they could get there much anticipated two days of fishing in. The boat charter had already been reserved and paid for. The Washington guys had never been to Cabo and had heard countless hours of bragging and boasting about how crazy fantastic the sport fishing was in Cabo San Lucas! They wanted to see for themselves so left the wives at home. (I already don’t like these guys)
Kenny, a tall athlete from ‘the day’, superstar basketball player and world class surfer (he could hold his breath a long time) had discovered Cabo in about 1991 and because he had lived the real estate boom years in Aspen, Colorado, he predicted this little dusty fishing village would one day be the place for the rich and famous with land values jumping up into the millions. Mike too, had discovered this little Mexican paradise about the same time as Kenny and built a small home right on the beach ‘all in’ for about $250,000. Oh, and besides his oceanfront home, he owned the whole acre behind him and thought maybe one day it would be worth something and he would develop it.
Almost dozing off, sitting enjoying the sound of the waves and watching nothing much at all, Kenny sat bolt upright and shouted, ‘what the freaking hell is that?’ while pointing at something awkward looking floundering just off shore about 50 feet out. They both stand up and run to the shoreline. This being January it could have been a whale but it was too small for that, yet sill big enough to get their attention. Whale season is between November and April and boy oh boy do you see whale action during the season.
Kenny, already in his board shorts, (no speedos for this guy) started making his way into the water when Mike yelled at him to be careful and not to get too close to ‘that thing’. Kenny, a New Yorker who doesn’t listen well at all (had three wives that all said so) continued on into the waves and dove under the incoming surf. He popped out and starting swimming the crawl to make it to this ‘what-ever-it-is’ that was out there, faster. He caught up to it quickly and yelled back, “Oh My God it is a Big Giant Grouper”.
Yes, the amazingly large grouper was floundering around on top of the water and Kenny swam up beside him and was able to somehow thrust his left hand and arm right up his gill! The grouper was not having anyone assault him like this so immediately dove down, and down some more into the depths of the salty sea. Kenny was stuck inside his gill and unable to fight his way free from the grouper and was dragged deeper under the water.
This fight was on and from the shoreline Mike was watching in horror and shock at the scene worried that Kenny might be drowning before his eyes.
Just then, the taxi with the two Washington buddies showed up and saw Mike at the shoreline so dropped their suitcases off at the side of the beach house and walked to meet Mike at the shoreline. They each had a beer in hand and were already taken in by the beautiful ocean view. “Hey Mike how you doing?” they both said as they kicked off their shoes and let the water wash over their feet.
Mike was sick, out of breath and gasped, “My friend is drowning! A giant fish just took him down under the water and it has been over two minutes now and I am sick he may never come back up. I think he is dead.”
“Are you saying your friend was taken by a big fish? How many beer have you had Mike? ” Both buddies said in unison.
The next moments were surreal as the three men stood and watched as Kenny jumped straight up out of the water and started swimming to shore struggling to hold onto the giant grouper with his left arm still jammed up the gill. Kenny was fighting it the whole way into shore and rode the last wave onto the sand. Lying there, laughing and gasping for air and yelling, “I got him. I got him.”
It took all three men to carry the one hundred pound grouper up onto the shore. Both Washington buddies said, “You said this place had great fishing but I had no idea you could catch one with your bare hands!” (True fish story, 1995)