Pescando para tuna con Javier de Playa Palmilla

by Tommy Kirchhoff

At 6:30 am, we sped toward the Beach Club 96 in the gas-powered, but governed, golf
cart. The weather was perfect as it always was in Los Cabos, Mexico. We joked and said,
Tits up, as we passed the speed bump caution signwhich looked hysterically like a
set of tits from the point of view of a belly button.
We reached Club 96; I kissed my wife and two boys goodbye and headed down the beach
to meet Captain Julio.
All sorts of fishermen, white and Mexican, populated Palmilla Beach. Several small boats
waited well up onto the sand while four or five big boats moored out about 200 feet from
the shore.
I had arranged, or negotiated, a special price with Julio indirectly through our property
management company. I really didnt want to pay more than $80 for the morning; it was
supposed to cost $180 for three people; but it was just me, and the boats were hardly first
class vessels.
I sunscreened down, and waited for Julios direction. Several white guys said, There
wont be any fish today, and headed for their cars. Id been skunked on enough
sportfishing trips to know how they felt.
Julio was talking to some Mexicans who were obviously in the company. He was
pointing and barking off gentle orders. Then he pointed at me, and told one of his guys
that he was taking out pelota. OK, Im bald, but I speak enough Spanish to know that
Julio had just called me a kickball or playball, or something derogatory along those
lines.
After everyone left, Julio came to me. He pointed to the shitiest little boat in the fleet, the
Leticia, and said, no one wants to share with you, so you get to have all the luck. Youre
going with Javier; hes a good guy.
Javier was a strong-looking Mexican man in his mid-forties. One of his front teeth was
almost all silver. Javier looked less than thrilled to be taking Pelota in the shitiest boat
with no one else.
We pushed like hell with eight other guys, and got the Leticia down to the water. We
shoved-off, sort of getting heckled for having only one tourist in the boat. As we passed

other boats in our fishing fleet, more jeers came, and, Javier understanding that I could
speak Spanish but not well enough to keep up with local, rapidfire lingo, played along
and made fun of me too. I just figured he took me for a tourist, and told myself, well
just see what happens.
We were the last boat to reach the bait-vendor boat. The outboard on the Leticia looked
about 30 years old; Javier had to pump the primer to keep the old girl idling. We bumped
against their similar, open-design floating piece of shit, and held on as they filled our
bucket with minnows. Javier offered me some first words, Vente dolares.
Shit. I was suppsed to get a deal on the boat, so twenty bucks for bait didnt bother me. I
pointed to the fish and inquired, Como se llama?
Sardinas, he chucked back, then joked with the bait vendors about his catastrophic
situation with Pelota. I was definitely being heckled right in front of me.
We pushed off, and headed full speed (or at least Leticias full speed) to some unknown
place. We trolled some big rubber squids; I had yet to see that work anywhere.
We cruised almost 45 minutes until we were almost to Cabo San Lucas. Three other little
boats floated in an area together. One white guy had something on his line. He pulled it
up to reveal a descent-sized Bonito.
Javier worked like mad, pulling-in the trolling lines, freshening the sardine water, and
baiting a line for me. He handed me the rod, and in six seconds, something strong
grabbed my sardine and ran straight down. I fought it for a few minutes, then saw that we
were surrounded by sea lions. Javier growled loudly at them when they surfaced for air.
Javier hooked into something just as I got my fish to the boat. Javier slid his pole into a
place holder and grabbed a gaff. Twenty seconds was too long for that fish to stay in the
water next to the boata big sea lion came right up and took that fish away from me like
I was a bitch. The hook came flying up into the boat.
I realized my adrenaline was coursing, as I tried to reason through my corrections for the
next strikeif there would be a next one.
I baited my hook and dropped it into the water. I made a mistake between the drag and
the bail switches, and suddenly had a giant, tangled mess of line on my reel. The more I
tried to fix it, the worse it got. Ugh! Amateur night at the Roxy. OK, I guess the Utah
genius master fisherman was going to have to sink to zero on the learning curve.
I straightened out, and Javier handed me his rod with a big fish on. I fought this one for at
least five minutes, during which time Javier hooked into another one. With two fish on,
the sea lions started heading toward our boat. Holding his rod in his left hand, Javier
picked up a fat, wooden fishbilly with his right. A sea lion surfaced about 80 feet away
from us, but its nose was pointed right at us and it was heading our way. Javier threw the
club with all of his mustard and hit the sea lion right in face. It was one hell of a shot, and
that thing was gone. I needed the extra time, as I was quickly catching on.
I got my fish up to the boat, but gave Javier enough notice to help me out. He quickly
gaffed it, dodging a second sea lion, and pulled it into the boat. It was a nice fat Bonito.
Javier hand me his rod, and set up the other. Immediately he got one on, and fought it for
about seven minutes. When he got it up to the boat, he gleefully exclaimed, Tuna! and
gaffed it. It was a yellowfin, probably weighing about 10 or 12 pounds. I had been reeling
in fish for 20 minutes straight. I was drenched in sweat. Sweat rolled over my sunglass
lenses and soaked my shirt.

It didnt let up. We banged Bonito and Tuna for the next 45 minutes without a break. My
forearms were burning, but the adrenaline superceded any pain.
On a particularly big, strong fish, I wasnt making any headway, so I looked at the other
boats to see how they were doing. Four boats circled around the Leticia, but their strikes
seemed intermittent at best. I questioned the reality of it, then realized that we were the
kings. Javier was boasting about the lucky, white guy, and yelling things like Dios mio!
as one after another, big fish took our bait. We continued to haul them in, dodging sea
lions and tossing good tuna and bonito into the fish trunk. I heard another boat captain
yell to Javier,
No entiendo! to which Javier just laughed and yelled back something caddy. We were
both laughing and buzzing on adrenaline. We were too busy catching to call it fishing.
We had 150 sardines to start. Every time we re-baited, pushing the hook through the
tough little nose of those silver baitfish, Javier would toss five to ten more live sardines
out into the water. Tuna blasted out of the water, chasing and chomping each of my
thirteen-cent sardines. The air was electric with so much activitysnorting sea lions, fish
ripping through the surface; men calling us out as to why we were catching fish and they
werent; and bigger boats, with their gargling diesels coming in close to steal some of our
action.
A Mexican captain yelled, mucho trabaja! as if to rob us of our morale as we sweat and
fought these amazing fish.
After nearly two hours, even the salty and experienced Javier was starting to fatigue. Our
bait was running low, and our arms were tight and itchy.
My left index finger was cut and bleeding at the crease of the joint from trying to pull a
tuna quickly into the boat to avoid a sea lion; I was face to face with the bastard, but I
wasnt giving up that fish, so I just grabbed the line and yanked it in. It finally stopped
bleeding after soaking in saltwater and drying many times over. That didnt stop the
burning though.
I had moved way up the learning curve. 30 years of fishing experience, plus the helpful
tutelage of Javier to remind me how a big reel works was paying off. In fact, for the first
hour, I outfished Javier by a three to one ratio, but he definitely caught up by the end.
We caught one last bonito with our last sardine. I heard Javier yell something about agua
negra only minutes before, and somehow all the action ceased. No lions, no fish, no
boats, no bait. I opened the fish trunk to take a count. They were stacked up so much that
they were impossible to inventory.
We trolled more than an hour to get back to Palmilla, but no strikes. We did a high-speed
landing, and were met by children, tourists and onlookers. Javier was proud as a peacock
as the young boys opened the trunk and started lifting out fat tuna and bonitos three at a
time. The boys hung them on the photo display hooks, filling each of the 12 hooks and
leaving five still on the table.
The final tally was eight tuna and nine bonito. I stood before them and called Javier over
to join me for a photo. I repositioned him a few times, then Julio snapped a couple pics
with my Olympus.
I gave all the fish to Javier and then argued with Julio about the price. He wanted the full
$180. I told him to work it out with Claudia at the property management company
someone who sends him most of his clients.
Nothing seems straight in Mexico, but Cabos got a magic like nowhere else Ive been.