JIMBO HAS A NEW FISHING PARTNER READY TO FISH THE OCEAN

I have convinced Deysi to come on another fishing trip with me. It was not easy because the one in Mauritius did not cut it for her. One lonely Dorado for $300+ did not compute as good value to her. She could only think about what she could have done in the shops with that money. No consideration for my enjoyment, the bonding, the challenge of man against sea monster, and the time alone with nature.

In any event, my latest partner Ron refused to go again, however she did allow that if I ever could afford a “real” fishing boat then she might accompany me again. However, she would remain, down below, in the salon while I fished. This time, the girls are staying at the hotel with their professional babysitter and can’t wait for us to leave. No touring, photos or history talks with dad today. Wahooo! So, fresh with a new partner we cross over the island to Victoria and meet up with our fisherman and his crew (one swamper).

We are also joined by another couple who hailed from Spain and who had also paid for 1/2 of the boat. I am stoked, a full day of fishing in the Indian Ocean, let’s get going! The couple that joined us were very happy on meeting Deysi, as they spoke no English or creole. Learning that Deysi spoke Spanish (well sort of “sniff”, South American style hehehe), their whole day took on a new shape. Our package included lunch. So armed with a camera and sunscreen we boarded.

At the last minute the swamper jumps aboard carrying our lunch. In his hands he held a head of cabbage, an onion and a small bottle of oil. Our included lunch had just been loaded. Again Deysi was under impressed. Where are the trays of sandwiches, linen, wine, fruit platters and bonbons? Too late to turn back now, so she bites down and decides that she can miss one lunch on this holiday.

We head out around the north end of the island of Mahe’ and about halfway down the west coast of the Island, relatively close to where our seafood restaurant on the mountainside was, but a bit farther out. The captain gets to exactly where he wants to go, using his built in GSP in his brain (called radar love) and starts a slow circle. Out go the lines and almost immediately we start catching Bonito. Everyone brings in one or two and the Bonito are sent down into the bowels of the boat to the fish hold.

Again my new partner is not impressed. “What’s this Bonito”? “In Peru we only eat bonito if there is nothing else to eat”. “They are the cheapest, dark meat”, etc. etc. The fish we are now catching are in the 5 – 8 pound range and although small by ocean standards, they would be quite impressive if caught in a stream or a lake. I am enjoying myself.

We putt putt around like this, trolling two lines and having enough action for everyone. Then I notice there are only three of us rotating thru the rods. I look over and the Spanish guy has a face the color of this Post. I mean he was puke green. It looks like he is about to lose it. He politely drops his head overboard and starts calling out for his brothers RRRRRallllppphhh and HHHHEEEEEuuuuugggggyyyy. He is making quite a racket and I’m sure is scaring the fish.

Well, we “up lines” and take off in a wide arc at about as fast as this boat can go. Which, only, seems to have encouraged our fishing partner, to redouble his efforts in locating his brothers. He is really hollering out now. We skip across the waves, heading straight out into the Ocean for what seems like a long time. All of a sudden the captain cuts the speed from 100-0 like WHHHHAAAAAaaaa…. This also inspires our companion to new efforts at turning himself inside out. The swamper now changes gear. Out come the big rods, now that’s what I’m talking about! He then ties on a big green/blue plastic plug on each line. Each plug is trailing about 30 inches of colourful knitting yarn. “Hold it, where’s the hook”, I exclaim. “Don’t worry mister” says the swamper “we got this”.

Out go the lines and I settle into a long boat ride, dragging some yarn around with no hook. I am feeling a bubble of gas rise in my stomach, usually the precursor to a fit. We troll our pieces of yarn around for about 45 minutes, when like a miracle one of the rods starts to jump around. Yeah right, I think, so you gonna tell me that a fish saw that yarn and swallowed enough of it so that it got tangled in its entrails and now can’t spit it out? In any event its not my turn on the rod, but it is the “green faced,” guy’s turn. The rod is bouncing, the boat is rocking and the waves are lapping. He takes one look and drops his head back over the side to continue his search for his brothers.

His wife says to me “can you catch the fish for him please”? “Well if you insist” I humbly reply. Out of my way! I shoulder everyone aside and get stuck into that fish. It was a sailfish. As soon as I had the line tight, this magnificent beast (in my imagination a 500 pound marlin) came straight out of the water and danced on its tail. I almost peed in my diaper. This was like nothing I had ever experienced. Time stood still. It was now me and this monster. I fought an epic battle and soon it succumbed to my skills. The swamper loaded it into the boat and made his first pronouncement “it’s a little small but still a keeper”.

Who is that sniggering in the background. I have just been kicked in the nutsack. However, I am still posed, showing my pec’s and sucking in large amounts of air. I then realize how this fish was caught. You see, the sailfish has a long tapered beak (snout, nose) that is very rough and covered in rasp like ridges of hard bone. You could file a knife with this beak. To eat, he catches up to his prey and gives it a sharp rap with his beak, thereby stunning the prey. When he does this to the wool, he gets hopelessly entangled in the yarn and there is no way he is getting free. The swamper then spent 30 minutes untangling yarn from this sailfish’s beak. Good he deserved it, after insulting my fish. Wow I’m tired and glad its lunch time.

Yes the part Deysi has been waiting for, to eat her all inclusive lunch! She is waiting to pounce on my ass for paying extra money for this. The swamper then reaches down into the fish hold and pulls out two Bonito. He zip zip, filets them and whack whack chops them into cubes of dark red meat. Deysi is scowling, because no God fearing Peruvian is eating a bonito unless a famine sets in. And even if they do, they will not pay extra to eat one. Whack, chop, ratatatat and the cabbage and onion are in the pan, a dollop of a yellow coloured oil, stir it around, and let the aroma waft thru the cabin. My stomach thinks my throat is cut and I almost faint because of my hunger. In goes the fish, zzzzzziiizzzz, and it starts frying.

Oh please wake me I must be in heaven. Even old’ Deysi is starting to drool a bit at the corners of her mouth. The green monster rejoins us and now has turned a deathly shade of pale. The swamper serves lunch and I dig in. Oh how good is this! At least a Michelin three star. Deysi has had a tentative bite, but now is digging, two fisted, into this food.

The meat of the Bonito is dark, once cooked looks like fried pork or beef, it is light and delicate, has an aroma to die for and may be the best fish I have ever eaten. I lick my plate clean and look around. The swamper has cooked just enough to feed us once each. Then the wife of the sick guy says, “would you please eat Josue’s lunch”. “Why not” I think, “I’ve already caught his fish”. I dig in.

After lunch I’m ready to take on another giant, but the captain ups anchor and away we go. Hold it why are we leaving the area where we caught a sailfish? We go a couple of miles and start circling again. This time we pull out a couple of tuna. By now I’m the only one that wants to catch anything. Deysi tries it a couple of times, but is not about to trade it for shopping, as a pastime.

What we come to find out from the captain, is that the local fisherman know how much fish can be sold in the local market each day. And because they keep 99% of all fish caught by tourists, it has become necessary that they make their own quotas. So as not, to flood the local market and drive fish prices down. Thus putting everyone out of business. Beautiful, that explains why he allowed us to catch one or two in each place and then move on. Its now early afternoon and the Spanish guy asks if we would be too bummed if we returned to dockside now. He explained that he was not really feeling well. NO SHIT! I hadn’t noticed.

We don’t care, we have had fun, I’ve eaten all of the lunch and caught more fish than I needed. Sure let’s go back. Another story from my archives.