Dorothy Brush "Random Thoughts" Published Dec. 7, 2005

The Baja calls some of us

For many years, Americans seeking lower living costs, good fishing and relief from winter's chill headed down the Baja Peninsula, the 800 mile long narrow sliver of land, to the southern most tip. Here was Cabo San Lucas, a tiny Mexican town with all those features and as yet undiscovered by big money. Many of these visitors were retirees, but all ages were welcome to become American Baja Bums.

Our daughter Cindy was introduced to this lovely spot in the early 1980s by a friend. For three years she spent several winter weeks in this tranquil setting. She enjoyed roughing it, nature and fishing. The first two years she did reef fishing in her friend's 21-foot boat as the waves bounced, rolled and pitched it. She was awed by the porpoises playing and marveled at the sea turtles and seals that swam near the boat. She hand-fed pelicans and learned to watch the skies for frigate birds circling, the clue that marlin had been spotted.

Every afternoon at three everyone gathered to watch the fishing boats return with their catch of game fish. The town photographer snapped a picture of the lucky fisherman with his trophy hanging from a beam.

As each prize was cut down, a young man with a large knife cut the meat and filled plastic bags held by youngsters and their grandmothers. They each received a huge hunk of firm pink fish meat for their supper.

On her third and final year to Cabo, Cindy decided she would try for a marlin and Jerando was hired as a guide. She had watched him each year in his small yellow boat, The Juncalito, fishing among the large fleet and each day he was successful in returning with shark, marlin or sailfish.

It was still dark as she and her friend settled into the short, stocky straw-hatted fisherman's sturdy boat. In broken English Jerando asked, "You want to fish for marlin?" Cindy answered,

"Si," and he headed the boat toward the great stone arch which marks the last bit of land at the tip of Baja. Here as the fiery red orange sun rose they fished the reef for mackerel, the favorite bait of marlin.

Cindy was handed a Penn reel and given a quick lesson by Jerando on using this large reel. It was a thrill when she pulled the 500 foot of line and the hooks were filled with mackerel. Once the bait box was full they joined the rest of the fleet.

The morning dragged by slowly and her mind began to wander, would they return empty handed? Cindy tells the rest of the story in her own words.

"It was about 11:30 and I was holding the pole tightly when suddenly I heard a slow clicking and then it speeded up. Jerando jumped to his feet as the line started going down and wham, whatever it is sets the hook. Jerando yells, 'Señorita, the belt, get it on quick,' as he throws it to me. I fasten the stiff leather belt which holds the pole and Jerando throws a red thermos cooler in the bow for me to sit on.

"Jerando says, 'It is a marlin. Señorita, reel, use your thumb this way.' Already my arm is aching and I wonder if I'll be pulled overboard. My hands are throbbing but I know I must hold on with all my strength. Jerando ordered my friend to stay back and water the bait. I wedge my feet on the boat boards so I feel more anchored. The two men stand back and I know this is my battle.

"The rod tip bends and points its 40 pound test tip down. It feels like some giant hand is below the boat tugging on the lines. My arm feels almost numb but there is no time to relax because he is off again. More than thirty minutes pass before he surfaces. So beautiful, all iridescent and blue striped. I feel remorse for trying to destroy him but again the battle is on.

"About ninety minutes pass before he is close enough to the boat for Jerando to send a flying gaff and the struggle ends as the men pull the 140 pound body on board. My respect for my opponent grows as I look at the six foot long body now black with death.

"This was before catch and release had become the right way to take these game fish. Today that is what I would have done but at the picture taking ceremony I saw the men eying the fish with envy. Bikini-clad women slapped me on the back and said, 'Great for you. Glad to see women do that.'

"I celebrated that catch because it was a test of determination and a battle of wills. More than that I had proved something important to myself. The delicious meat was cooked in my pressure cooker, canned and eaten for a long time."

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Dorothy Copus Brush is a Fairfield Glade resident and Crossville Chronicle staffwriter whose column is published each Wednesday. She may be reached at ebrush@frontiernet.net