Baja With Alex, 2004
A Dorado Bonanza
Note weeds on line.
We never did find out what ailed that motor. Our mechanically gifted neighbor took apart all the components, found nothing, reassembled them, and the outboard fired up, not giving further trouble for the remainder of the trip. Meanwhile, Alex researched the dorado problem in his own way. He found an old green/yellow Zucker in our tacke box that matched Larry's successfull patern. "This is what I'm fishing with tomorrow", he announced boldly.
The morning seemed to herald a great day from the earliest light. Halfbeaks skipped along the surface with dorado greyhounding in pursuit. We could not have trolled more than 200 yds. before Alex caught his first dorado on the Zucker. By the time we reached the island he had landed ten fish to my single. The north end of the island had sargasso weed lines that were teeming with dorado. Each one brought in was followed by groups of twenty or thirty fish. We were in dorado heaven. Alex was outfishing me by a factor of ten to one (and reminding me along the way). His arms actually grew tired of pulling on fish. He even managed to hook a kawakawa at the tip of the island, a fish he prized because of its beauty and rarity. We speculated about the origin of it name ("Akipumba eat kawakawa").
It was the perfect day. I asked Alex if this was the best day of fishing that he ever had and he agreed it was. We motored into the channel off the west lighthouse and encountered sargasso with even greater concentrations of fish. Alex probably hooked, landed, and released another 10 fish before it happened. We got a double hookup, each fish weighing about 20 lbs. Our lines crossed but we seemed to untangle them. Suddenly the two fish ran in oposite directions with crossed lines. I shouted a warning about the danger but continued to fight my fish instead of free-spooling the reel. There was a snap and suddenly it was all over. Alex reeled in the slack line. He just stood there in silent disbelief. I encouraged him to continue but the wind had been taken out of his sails. We gunned the boat and headed for Larry's RV. Larry was leaving that day and, if we could just reach him in time, might sell us a couple of lures. Alas, upon arrival we saw that his truck was gone and knew what that meant.
Fortunately our neighbor, Boyd, was leaving that evening and my 8 year old son negotiated the sale of two green/yellow feathers from the most successfull fisherman in camp. All was well again. The following day Alex was back in action as long as I found fertile sargasso beds.
Bye early noon we were heading back to the campground satiated from the day's fishing. Alex was dozing in the bow when the fish struck my lure and ran about half of the line off the reel. Alex woke up in time to shout "Papa, it's a huge bull dorado!" after seeing it jump. I tightened the drag as far as I dared in an attempt to prevent being spooled but realized that I just wasn't going to stop that run. The mighty fish had stitched it's way through the weeds and was pulling entire weed beds in its run for freedom. It seemed hopeless at first. I ran the boat towards the fish while Alex stood on the bow and removed clumps of sargasso from the line. Miraculously we got a direct line to the fish and a long battle ensued. At times it felt as though my struggle wasn't tiring him one bit. A wind came up about a half hour into the battle causing waves to lap over the transom. The taught line made an eerie whining sound in the wind. An hour into the fight he showed color off the back of the boat. To my amazement he appeared to be as long as the transom, somewhere in the 50lb-70lb range. After more work than you can imagine I got the bite tippet into Alex's hands and laid the rod to rest. I had no idea what I was going to do with that huge fish thrashing in the 14 foot boat. I had no club to dispatch him. I was, frankly, too tired to think clearly or care. I grabbed the base of the tail and felt no movement from the animal - he was equally spent. His peduncle was so broad I couldn't get my fingers around it. I slid about 1/2 of the fish over the side when it started to slip. Back it went, as it had come in. Alex let go of the swivel, the rod tip doubled over and the 20lb test line parted. He looked at me a bit guiltily, but it really wasn't his fault. My only regret was not having a picture of the beast. It had been the biggest fish I had ever caught other than the billfish. I felt a curious sense of power and invicibility as we motored back through the whitecaps.
We no longer fished for dorado - we expected our limit every day (which we released). One day we spotted birds wheeling over the water in the distant sky. When we arrived a group of about 200 gulls sat in a tight circle on the surface, pecking at the water below. We circled the area slowly with rapalas excited with anticipation. Five to ten pound skipjack tuna would shoot up from the depths and nail our offerings. Alex was delighted. He just couldn't believe the power of these fish on a spinning rod. A freshly caught skipjack, wet and glistening in the morning sun is a fish of great beauty. I just don't understand why fishermen tend to denigrate these marvelous fish.