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"Game fish chase their prey," Shuttle says. "Unlike freshwater fish, where you dance a fly over
them or dead drift a nymph, these babies go after the slowest morsel in the school. Strip. Strip.
Strip...and BANG...you've just hooked a freight train!"

The Sea of Cortez is the body of water that makes up the Gulf of California and separates Baja
from the Mexican continent. Just around the corner from Cabo San Lucas, the East Cape begins
roughly at the souther most tip of Baja north to the Canal de Cerralvo. According to the late Baja
fishing pioneer and fishing author extraordinaire, Ray Cannon, the East Cape area was where
there were "more fish than anywhere else in the entire world."

Our point of departure was Rancho Buena Vista, the oldest fish
camp on the East Cape. It was also Cannon's home base for all
the years he spent fishing and writing about the Sea of Cortez.
Like many of the "camps" -- the prime focus is on fishing and little
else. There's a swimming pool, bar and dining hall, but aside
from that, there's not much else to do.

Most of the other fishermen on the sultry morning were armed
with the usual gear and bait rods favored by deep-sea anglers
and intent on filling their coolers with marlin, tuna or dorado. Our
weapons of choice were 12 and 14 weight rods with large arbor
reels, rigged with over 400 feet of backing and saltwater sinking
line, finished off with 20 lb. Maxima test and 100 lb. bite leaders.

The flies were colorful feathered streamer-like patterns with large
hooks. We would use these rods to troll for striped marlin. We
also carried 8 and 10 weight rods rigged with fast sinking
shooting line in case we had the opportunity to cast for tuna,
roosterfish or jack crevalle.

After boarding the 34' Jalapeno, we motored north from the
Rancho's boat dock toward the Island of Ceralvo at about 10
miles off-shore. The sea was bathtub flat and deep blue.
Water temperature was 85 degrees. Perfect lounging
conditions for marlin. Trolling at about 8 knots, the outriggers
were set with orange and yellow hookless teasers, twenty
yards astern to each side of the boat. As they cut through the
wake like sounding dolphins, we played out our 14 weight line
set with red and multi-colored popper feather flies about 12
inches long, with a single barbed 00 hook. The hunt for
marlin on the fly had begun.

"Marlin! Marlin!" came the shout of the deck hand from the
flying bridge of the cruiser. Off the port side we saw two sets
of tail fins as they swirled to dive on the approach of the boat.

The tactic here is to get the marlin's attention with the teasers, then maneuver the fly so it's just
behind the teaser. When the marlin is agitated, they light up like Las Vegas neon and madly
charge their prey. the the fly is in position, the teaser is pulled and the fly lined to the side of the
marlin head so they can see it. "Hook up!"

The rod bucked and the reel screamed. Two, three, four, five seconds and then nothing. "Lost
him." It was that quick. A huge smack and 350 feet of line stripped out. "Leave the fly out there,"
Shuttle yelled. "Sometimes they come back around." the Captain spun the Jalapeno around for
another pass, but it was too late. We had a shot and missed.

Again the teasers were set and we continued to troll. After a couple of hours without any action,
the Captain asked if we wanted to chase some tuna. He had been checking with several of the
other boats and a few had locked on to a school of porpoise shielding schooled tuna several feet
below the surface. The bite was on, so we pulled in the teasers and switched to lighter rods.
Shuttle grabbed his 10 weight and I, being the FNG, grabbed my 8 weight.

A few minutes later we had caught up with the other boats
attempting to corral the porpoise as they performed their
amazing acrobatic dance across the ocean surface. Tiny,
electric blue and green flying fish darted from wave top to wave
top like tiny meteorites exploding in a midnight sky. The
Captain slowed the boat to match the porpoise speed and we
stripped out line to begin the troll. We were now part of the
tuna posse.

Shuttle got the first hit. Just as he locked down the drag, my
rod bucked with the force of a baseball bat hitting a 50-gallon
drum. We were both hooked up and the party jumped into high
gear. Leaning against the aft gunnels and straining back to
reel in line, my 8 weight was bent into a U-shape and quivered
with the power of the fish I had hooked. Holding on with both
hands, I envisioned the rod to explode into tiny toothpicks at
any moment. Fortunately, it had a strong butt end and held the
strength of the fish. Fifteen minutes later, we both had Yellofin
tuna in the boat. It would be sashimi and tequila for dinner.

Since the boat stops when you're fighting a fish, we had to
double time to catch up with the porpoise school to continue
fishing. Just as we arrived, the Captin made a sharp turn nearly
knocking both Shuttle and I off our feet. "Pez Vela - sailfish" he
yelled, as the deck hand quickly played out a teaser on the port
side. Almost immediately the fish was on it. At the same time,
Shuttle and I were frantically reeling in to exchange our lighter
rods for the 14's. You could see the fish attack the teaser and try
to take it. The adrenalin rush was near chaotic! There was no
doubt; this fish was in the crosshairs.

Shuttle got his fly in the water and stripped out enough line to place the fly about five feet directly
behind the teaser. The "bait and switch" tactic was ready for action. At precisely the right moment,
the deck hand pulled the teaser and Shuttle stripped out more line to the infuriated fish. He
leaned forward giving another foot or so of line and wham! Hook up!

In a matter of seconds, Shuttle's reel was howling and the rish tail-walked 75 yards behind the
boat, madly shaking its head trying to rid itself of the hook. For the next 15 or so minutes, the
sailfish exploded in dazzling pirouettes and manic thrashes as shuttle dipped and drew back on
the rod, reeling in line. The fish broke the surface more than a dozen times before it was subdued
and gently hauled into the boat by the Captain and deckhand.

Click. Click. A couple of photos later and the Pez Vela was slipped back into the ocean. A little
shudder and a tail flick, then it was gone, diving deep into the Sea of Cortez.

As we headed back to Ranch flying tuna, silfish and jack crevalle flags from the outriggers, I kicked
back in the fighting chair knowing that the biggest fish that got hooked was me. I might not have
tagged a marlin, but I knew in the frenzied few minutes and the awesome sight of seeing the
marlin take the fly was a rush that I would want more of.

Shuttle cracked open a beer and grinned. "See," he said. "I told you so."

Copyright © 2005-2006 Lindsay R. Mohlere, all rights reserved. Used by permission








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