While driving to Clearlake I saw people fishing from the shore, people in boats fishing. It reminded me of how I always loved fishing.
A couple of decades ago I even went to Mexico by myself to go fishing. As I boarded the airplane headed to Cabo San Lucas, I imagined what a thrill it’d be to catch a marlin.
Approaching the Cabo airport, the plane banked and the Sea of Cortez below sparked like a giant turquoise fishbowl. It had been 20 years since I last visited Cabo. I couldn’t remember much, but I did remember the fishing and how I came away without a marlin. “This time will be different,” I told myself.
Eager to start vacationing, I checked into my hotel room, unpacked and quickly headed to Playa Medano, the main beach of San Lucas for an afternoon of kayaking. I was paired with a young Canadian named (of all names) Fish! We kayaked out to El Arco, Cabo’s famous natural rock arch, and the spot known as Land’s End, with its unique beach situated on two separate bodies of water.
“This is called Lovers’ Beach,” our guide said, “it’s where the Pacific makes love to the Sea of Cortez.” We laughed and kayaked around El Arco.
The night before my fishing trip I danced my fanny off at the infamous El Squid Roe and awoke to a grueling 5 a.m. wake up call. I groaned, crawled out of bed and made my way to the marina. I boarded the fishing boat with two other guys and Fish – all of us sleepy-eyed but ready for action.
“Come hail or high water,” I announced to my fellow fishermen, “I’m going to catch the big one!”
My father used to take me deep sea fishing in Florida. He promised that one day I’d catch “the big one.” A smoker, he’d say, “When I’m done with this cigarette, you’ll get a hit.” Always, within minutes of finishing his smoke I’d get that hit and catch a fish. But never “the big one.”
As the captain steered the boat past El Arco, I blew it a kiss for good luck and told the captain I’d give him the marlin if he’d just find it for me. With the sun warming me, I listened for the fishermen’s music – the whirring of the line dragging over the reel of the outriggers (lines used to catch big fish).
We’d been out for quite awhile when the captain abruptly changed direction, kicking the engine into high gear. I scanned the ocean for birds overhead; a telltale sign of a feeding frenzy. The first mate pointed toward pelicans dive bombing the water churning with fish. “Tuna,” he said.
My heart raced. Where there was tuna, there’d be marlin. The first mate baited and tossed out lines. The other fishermen, including the seasick Fish, came alive as well and watched anxiously.
First there was one hit, then another, and another. “Dorados,” yelled the captain. A rod was shoved into my hands. Fish grabbed a rod as did one of the other fishermen. The first mate quickly reeled in the outriggers to get them out of the way. The fight was on. The men, macho grins on their faces, brought their catch in quickly.
“Is this a whale?” I asked as my arms began to ache. I reeled and reeled but barely brought the fish any closer to the boat. If a dorado could beat me, how would I ever be able to reel in the big one?
Finally I won the battle, plus I caught the biggest fish of the day. With my fish safely stowed, I sank into the fighting chair. Exhausted and happy.
What’s a girl to do?…perhaps catch the big one that Daddy promised – in Clear Lake!
Lucy Llewellyn Byard welcomes comments and shares via lucywgtd@gmail.com
