- Home
- Trip Reports
- ¿a1Pesca Con Mosca En Baja!
¿a1Pesca Con Mosca En Baja!
- By Brendan Mason
- Published 08/24/2004
- Trip Reports
- Unrated
Brendan Mason
Brendan Mason is a Canadian born angler who now lives in Seattle, Washington. Brendan has fished all of his life and started a passion for fly in British Columbia where he grew up. His father a search and rescue expert and his mother a teacher, Brendan has the brains and skills to both out think and survive longer than the average Joe Blow. Brendan has fished extensively for trout and salmonids but in recent years has attacked the saltwater with gusto. His travels have taken him to Australia, Mexico, Argentina and beyond. Brendan also has the distinction of catching a 600 lb Mako on fly while fishing San Diego in 2006. You can often find him stalking carp in the shallows of Green Lake in Seattle.
“Get down, GET DOWN!!”, Randall yelled from 50 yards up the beach. Looking out to where the deep blue waters turned to green, I could see the shape of a big roosterfish cruising in to attack the mullet that were schooled near the beach. When the fish passed into the next band of deeper water, the shape disappeared. We watched for the rooster to reappear close to beach, but he never did. The mysterious pez gallo was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Such is life when roosterfishing from the beach.
Like most desert regions, Baja California appears desolate, lifeless, and uninhabited from the air. To gain a true appreciation of the life that flourishes in the heat, one must spend time on the ground, in the water or alternatively, stay in Room 9 at Hotel Punta Colorada.
We chose Punta Colorada as our base of operations for the first 4 days of the trip. Randall and Kate had been in Baja for a week before I arrived. “You should have been here yesterday”, they said as we were walking to our rooms – a phrase I had heard too many times when traveling to fish. Apparently they had spotted about 50 roosterfish from the beach within walking distance of the hotel that day. On the day we arrived, they saw two. Here one day, gone the next; I knew then that roosterfish were going to be just as tough as everyone had told me. In a few shorts days I would find out that this was not the case. They were tougher.
That night I decided to hit the beach in the dark and see if I could hook into my first fish of the trip. As I walked up the beach toward the dock, ghost crabs would shoot back into their holes or run off into the surf the instant the light from my headlamp illuminated them. While blind casting from the dock, I spotted a few ballyhoo and porcupine fish in the water underneath. A few moments later a slightly larger fish appeared, so I threw my Clouser minnow past the fish and stripped it back. It took several casts because the fish was moving around so quickly, but I finally hooked up. After a quick fight, I landed the fish; a 14” silvery fish that I would later identify as a Green Jack. The skunk was off for the trip, the weight was lifted from my shoulders, and with that, I retired to my room for the night.
The following morning, Randall, Kate, and I drove out to the lighthouse to look for roosters. A few ladyfish were surfacing along the beach and it was only a matter of minutes before Randall had one on. The ladyfish leapt and fought as if to demonstrate its merit compared to its larger cousin, the tarpon. We walked the beach and saw a number of ladyfish throughout the morning, but there were no roosterfish to be found. After returning to the hotel for lunch, we fished another section of beach between the hotel and the lighthouse. It wasn’t long before I saw Randall hurriedly making his way back to the Jeep. Coming our way through the mountains was an ominous black cloud. A cold gust of wind and the sound of thunder in the distance soon followed. We waited out the storm in the Jeep, watching ladyfish surface along the beach in front of us. The storm blew over quickly and we got back to the water. I cast to a swirl on the surface and immediately hooked up to a small ladyfish. The rest of the afternoon was slow, with only a small croaker to show for my efforts.
Day 3 found us fishing offshore in a chartered sport fishing boat. They forgot to prepare our lunches that we had ordered the night before, so we had to return to the dock after a quick trip to the bait boat. With that out of the way, the captain piloted the boat south of the lighthouse point until we reached the place, el lugar. The boat came to a stop and the captain and mate started throwing handfuls of sardina baitfish into the water. It wasn’t long before the needlefish arrived and started munching on the live baits. Randall had just succeeding in long-distance releasing a needlefish when we spotted a big tail break the surface further out. We kept fishing while the mate, Nicholas, continued to chum with the live bait. “Is that a wahoo?” I asked as a long, streamlined fish cruised past my side of the boat. “No, I don’t think so”, replied Nicholas. Now I had never seen a live wahoo before, but this fish was definitely no needlefish. Within seconds, the captain yelled out from the flybridge, “Wahoo!” I guess I was right after all! I threw several casts in the area where the fish had gone to no avail. Randall was able to get the wahoo to chase his fly, but the hookup didn’t materialize. Before long, I was back to targeting the needlefish. The needlefish seemed to be quite aggressive, but after feeding on so many live sardina’s, they had become very selective. Several times they grabbed my fly in their long, gar-like jaws, only to drop it once they noticed it didn’t feel like a real fish. It was fun observing this spectacle in the clear blue water for awhile, but we needed to catch some fish.
Next, we decided to troll some “teasers” for billfish and dorado. I use the word “teasers” figuratively because we couldn’t convince the captain and mate to troll hookless lures to tease the fish in. “We’ll get it away before they bite it”, they assured us, but it wasn’t long before we had a sailfish hooked up on one of the lures. Randall took the rod, but the sailfish threw the hook on one of its first few jumps. So much for teasing the fish to the boat for a shot with the fly rod!
The next fish to get hooked up on what should have been a teaser was a blue marlin. Since I had never caught a marlin, Randall handed the rod off to me. I was able to get the fish to boat three times, during each instance the mate grabbed the leader but was unable to hold the fish. By this time I was tired, my arms and back muscles hurt, sweat was dripping into my eyes, and I had technically landed the fish three times. Not one to led pride get in the way of anything, I told Randall he could do the final honors and handed the rod off to him while I got a drink of water. A few minutes later they managed to get the hook out of the marlin and successfully released the estimated 180 pound fish.
The only other action that afternoon was a good dorado that Kate landed on one of the trolling rods. Meanwhile, Randall hooked and subsequently broke off another dorado on a fly after it followed the hooked fish near the boat. The captain hadn’t taken the boat out of gear, so the tension when the fish hit was too much for the class tippet. Before long it was time to go back, and the crews on these boats don’t mess around when it’s quitting time.
Shortly after sunrise each morning, we would spot baitfish popping off and fish surfacing along the beach in front of the hotel; both within and out of casting range. This warranted attention, so Randall, Kate, and I decided to postpone breakfast and fish the beach north of the hotel. A few baitfish hit the surface thirty feet from where I was standing. I cast past the bait and slightly further out into the surf. As I stripped my fly, a few more baitfish jumped right over my line. I stripped faster and got my fly to swim through the bait school. Wham! This felt like a good fish, so I was surprised when I brought the 18” jack crevalle up onto the beach. They don’t call them toros for nothing. By this time the fish were not showing themselves anymore, so it was time for some breakfast and roosterfish hunting. On the way back to the hotel, we saw a few places in the sand where the tracks of sea turtles lead to a depression where they had laid their eggs.
Something was different about this day on the beach. The weather was warmer and something just seemed fishy. Randall was the first to the water. “There’s a big barred pargo right here”, he yelled back to us. As it turned out, there were pargo all along the beach. We walked the sandy beach, sight casting to the telltale shadows that gave away their location. The large flies we were fishing for roosterfish didn’t interest the pargo, however, so I soon stopped casting to them and focused on searching for the elusive roosterfish.
It had been 3 days I had now spent in the self-proclaimed “Roosterfish Capital of the World” and I had yet to see a single one of these mysterious fish. Then suddenly, I spotted one. It turned out roosterfish do exist after all. I wasn’t able to cast to this fish, as it was moving quickly away from me and was already out of casting range. With the adrenaline pumping, I continued down the beach. Randall had stopped ahead and was casting, but to what I didn’t know. As I neared his position, I spotted a small fish near shore and decided to cast to it. The fly passed near the fish and suddenly there were 3 fish following the fly. At that moment, I realized these were small bonefish and they were chasing a 5” roosterfish fly. Obviously, the fly was too big for their tiny mouths, but I was fascinated with what had just transpired. Bonefish are known to live in the East Cape area where they are primarily a deep water fish, but are rarely spotted or targeted on the beach. As it turned out, Randall had tied on a small bonefish fly and it was these fish that I had seen him casting to.
I allowed Randall to get ahead of me as we made out way back the way we had come. Keeping a distance between anglers allows you to warn each other of approaching fish that may be swimming toward the other person. We were only about fifty feet apart when Randall threw a quick cast ahead of him. Strip, strip, and suddenly a comb shot up out of the water, only ten feet from shore. The roosterfish hit hard and Randall’s rod bent. “Yeah!!!” I yelled, and then, abruptly, it was all over. We looked at each other, speechless, trying to comprehend what had just happened. The leader had broken at the perfection loop knot at the butt. The combination of abrasive sand and running up and down through the rod guides had taken its toll, and at the worst moment imaginable. It was apparent that Randall was having trouble accepting what had happened, so Kate and I left him to have some time to himself and made our way up the beach.
An ATV appeared in the distance and as it neared, we saw it was being driven by Brad and Claire, the people we had chatted with at the hotel bar the night before. They reported seeing some large milkfish cruising near shore on the other side of the point. While talking with them, we saw Randall making his way back toward us. All of a sudden, he collapsed on the beach. A moment later he got up and was grabbing his foot. “I wonder if he stepped on a dead puffer.” I said. When he finally got to where we were, we found that this was the case. He had been walking along, spotting for roosterfish, and stepped full-force onto a dead, bloated porcupine fish, breaking off a few spines in his foot. Between breaking off a big roosterfish and stepping on a porcupine fish, this was just not Randall’s day. We decided to drive back to the hotel and fish the north beach for a few hours before dinner. We had to check out the next day, leaving us only this evening and the next morning to succeed in hooking and landing a rooster on the fly.
The fishing before dinner was not successful. The wind picked up and I was unfortunate enough to plant a 3/0 popper in my right cheek. Fortunately, it didn’t go in as far as the barb, so it came out easily and didn’t leave too much of a wound. Kate and I gave up early, but Randall made his way nearly all the way to the point. When he returned, he gave us a report on what he had seen. “I was scared!” Randall said of the huge roosterfish that had chased his fly. “If it had taken my fly, I would have lost my fly line in the rocks.” I can’t help but wonder if he was woken from his sleep that night by nightmares of that fish. Meanwhile, I had a little trouble getting to sleep myself after chasing a pair of cockroaches out from under my pillow.
We fished the same beach the next morning at sunrise, but there were few fish showing themselves. Pete caught a pair of small jack crevalle, but the rest of us were skunked. After breakfast we made one last ditch effort for roosterfish, but the fish that had been showing themselves the day before had all but disappeared. I spotted one pair of roosters cruising quickly just out of casting range, but they never came in any closer. Before I knew it, it was time to check out and catch the shuttle to Cabo San Lucas for the last leg of the trip. Before checking out, I had the pleasure of showering with a white scorpion that I noticed on the shower floor. The legend of Room 9 is one that won’t die anytime soon.
“¿bfQué ciudad es esto?” I asked the taxi driver as we made our way past a small town on our way from Punta Colorada. “La Ribera”, he replied. That was the extent of the conversation between the cab driver, Pete, Elizabeth, and me on the way to Cabo. I think we were all tired and I personally had a hard time staying awake during the drive.
We met Grant at his boat in the Cabo harbor at 6:00 in the morning. We were armed with 12 and 14 weight rods, rigged for blue water. After a quick stop for some caballitos for bait, we headed out to the marlin grounds. When we reached the spot, Grant slowed the boat and the teasers were put out behind the boat. We hadn’t been trolling long when Pete called out, “There’s one!” I turned my head and saw the dorsal fin and tail of a marlin ahead of the boat. Unfortunately, this fish wasn’t interested and we couldn’t get him to come to the boat. Throughout the morning, this scenario played out a few more times with billfish that just wouldn’t come to the boat. We even saw a big dorado that wasn’t interested in the teasers or live bait. However, it wasn’t long after before another marlin was slashing at one of the teasers. Randall was up with the fly rod and Grant teased the fish close for a cast. “Cast!” he yelled, and Randall threw the big popper next to fish. It turned and took the fly and I ran for my camera. By the time I got to my camera case on the other side of the boat, the fish had come unbuttoned. Now it was my turn in the hot seat.
With my eyes fixed on the teasers behind the boat, we continued fishing. It had only been about ten minutes when a fish was spotted ahead of the boat. Before I knew it, a sailfish was teased behind the boat and Grant was giving the order to cast. Plop, went the popper as it landed behind the boat. “Strip!” Grant said, and I gave the popper a solid pull. The noise got the attention of the fish and it turned and engulfed the popper. I set the hook with a straight pull and the fish went nuts. After a few jumps and the long initial run, the fish turned and started coming at me. I usually reel with my left hand and felt clumsy trying to retrieve line quickly with my right. Thanks to good boat handling skills and some pointers from Grant during the fight, I was able to keep the sailfish hooked up and got it to the boat for a photo and release.
Since Pete had opted out of fishing for the day in favor of spotting for billfish, it was Randall’s turn to fish again. This gave me a chance to stand at the front of the boat, spotting for fish while at the same time enjoying the scenery of the open ocean. We were miles offshore and with the sun directly overhead, the clouds in the distance were the only indicator of land. We trolled past sea turtles and porpoises swam along the boat; water hitting me in the face when they surfaced to breathe.
We didn’t raise any more billfish before it was time to start venturing back. We had trolled a long way hunting for fish that day; roughly halfway from Cabo to Mazatlan, and the run back was going to take awhile.
“Keep that camera in the case”, Grant warned as we were getting on the boat the next morning. “It’s going to be a wet one today.” He was right; there was a lot more chop on the water than there had been the previous day. The salt spray felt good even at this early hour as we made our way to the day’s fishing location.
We had only been trolling the teasers for a matter of minutes when a bill started slashing at one of them. Grant teased the fish with the live bait and Randall cast for a textbook hookup. The sailfish jumped and ran while Randall applied steady pressure to the fish. “Seven minutes!”, Roberto exclaimed as Grant hoisted the fish into the boat for a photo.
I was hours into my turn with the rod, with only a few brief strikes on the teasers by passing dorado when a flurry of activity erupted around me. I wasn’t even sure what was going on when Grant started yelling “Cast… Cast! Cast!! CAST!!!”, but by then it was too late. Apparently I had just missed a shot at a huge yellowfin tuna that I failed to even see. Randall came in behind me with another rod and hooked up to a smaller tuna of about 25 pounds. We chased the porpoise school, and the tuna that were feeding below it, for a few minutes, but it proved impossible to stay with the school in the choppy water.
Baja offers a level of fly fishing diversity that very few locations can compete with. Within an hour of Los Cabos airport, you can fish for dozens of species from the beaches, inshore, or offshore. A roosterfish from the beach remains the ultimate prize for me, and one I hope to achieve on my next visit. With Baja so close, I’ll certainly be spending some time unraveling its fly fishing opportunities in the years to come.
Roosterfishing for (by) Dummies:
The Fish
Found only in the eastern tropical Pacific, the roosterfish one of the premier targets for beach fishing anglers in its range. Growing to over 50 kilos and noted for being a selective and spooky quarry, it’s easy to understand its popularity.
The Flies
Mullet are the primary food that roosterfish attack on the beach. The ones I saw were 4”-8” in length with white bodies, tan backs and black tips on their tails. To match these baitfish, we used sparsely tied, translucent hairwing patterns and also more imitative, fat-headed patterns that were more representative of the mullet. Eyes are important, as is a black-tipped tail.
Ballyhoo and sardina are also found along the beaches, so you would be wise to bring some patterns to represent these species as well. Generic baitfish patterns such as Clousers and Deceivers are good to have for the smaller beach species.
The Gear
With the large fish, big flies, and afternoon winds, a 10 to 12 weight rod is a must for beach fishing. A fast action rod will help punch large flies into the wind. Make sure your reel is bulletproof, lightweight, and can hold a lot of backing. Clear tip or intermediate lines are best. Shooting heads will work too, but I found the afternoon winds make line management difficult with thin running lines. Bring plenty of 20#-40# leader material. A stripping basket is a must, as is a hook file. The sand can and will dull your hooks quickly.
Stealth is critical; wear clothes that match the color of the sand. Lightweight, quick-drying clothes are the way to go since you’ll definitely get wet. Dehydration is a serious concern when there is no shade and it’s pushing 100 degrees, so make sure you have a hydration pack or several water bottles.
 |
Like most desert regions, Baja California appears desolate, lifeless, and uninhabited from the air. To gain a true appreciation of the life that flourishes in the heat, one must spend time on the ground, in the water or alternatively, stay in Room 9 at Hotel Punta Colorada.
We chose Punta Colorada as our base of operations for the first 4 days of the trip. Randall and Kate had been in Baja for a week before I arrived. “You should have been here yesterday”, they said as we were walking to our rooms – a phrase I had heard too many times when traveling to fish. Apparently they had spotted about 50 roosterfish from the beach within walking distance of the hotel that day. On the day we arrived, they saw two. Here one day, gone the next; I knew then that roosterfish were going to be just as tough as everyone had told me. In a few shorts days I would find out that this was not the case. They were tougher.
That night I decided to hit the beach in the dark and see if I could hook into my first fish of the trip. As I walked up the beach toward the dock, ghost crabs would shoot back into their holes or run off into the surf the instant the light from my headlamp illuminated them. While blind casting from the dock, I spotted a few ballyhoo and porcupine fish in the water underneath. A few moments later a slightly larger fish appeared, so I threw my Clouser minnow past the fish and stripped it back. It took several casts because the fish was moving around so quickly, but I finally hooked up. After a quick fight, I landed the fish; a 14” silvery fish that I would later identify as a Green Jack. The skunk was off for the trip, the weight was lifted from my shoulders, and with that, I retired to my room for the night.
The following morning, Randall, Kate, and I drove out to the lighthouse to look for roosters. A few ladyfish were surfacing along the beach and it was only a matter of minutes before Randall had one on. The ladyfish leapt and fought as if to demonstrate its merit compared to its larger cousin, the tarpon. We walked the beach and saw a number of ladyfish throughout the morning, but there were no roosterfish to be found. After returning to the hotel for lunch, we fished another section of beach between the hotel and the lighthouse. It wasn’t long before I saw Randall hurriedly making his way back to the Jeep. Coming our way through the mountains was an ominous black cloud. A cold gust of wind and the sound of thunder in the distance soon followed. We waited out the storm in the Jeep, watching ladyfish surface along the beach in front of us. The storm blew over quickly and we got back to the water. I cast to a swirl on the surface and immediately hooked up to a small ladyfish. The rest of the afternoon was slow, with only a small croaker to show for my efforts.
Day 3 found us fishing offshore in a chartered sport fishing boat. They forgot to prepare our lunches that we had ordered the night before, so we had to return to the dock after a quick trip to the bait boat. With that out of the way, the captain piloted the boat south of the lighthouse point until we reached the place, el lugar. The boat came to a stop and the captain and mate started throwing handfuls of sardina baitfish into the water. It wasn’t long before the needlefish arrived and started munching on the live baits. Randall had just succeeding in long-distance releasing a needlefish when we spotted a big tail break the surface further out. We kept fishing while the mate, Nicholas, continued to chum with the live bait. “Is that a wahoo?” I asked as a long, streamlined fish cruised past my side of the boat. “No, I don’t think so”, replied Nicholas. Now I had never seen a live wahoo before, but this fish was definitely no needlefish. Within seconds, the captain yelled out from the flybridge, “Wahoo!” I guess I was right after all! I threw several casts in the area where the fish had gone to no avail. Randall was able to get the wahoo to chase his fly, but the hookup didn’t materialize. Before long, I was back to targeting the needlefish. The needlefish seemed to be quite aggressive, but after feeding on so many live sardina’s, they had become very selective. Several times they grabbed my fly in their long, gar-like jaws, only to drop it once they noticed it didn’t feel like a real fish. It was fun observing this spectacle in the clear blue water for awhile, but we needed to catch some fish.
Next, we decided to troll some “teasers” for billfish and dorado. I use the word “teasers” figuratively because we couldn’t convince the captain and mate to troll hookless lures to tease the fish in. “We’ll get it away before they bite it”, they assured us, but it wasn’t long before we had a sailfish hooked up on one of the lures. Randall took the rod, but the sailfish threw the hook on one of its first few jumps. So much for teasing the fish to the boat for a shot with the fly rod!
 |
The next fish to get hooked up on what should have been a teaser was a blue marlin. Since I had never caught a marlin, Randall handed the rod off to me. I was able to get the fish to boat three times, during each instance the mate grabbed the leader but was unable to hold the fish. By this time I was tired, my arms and back muscles hurt, sweat was dripping into my eyes, and I had technically landed the fish three times. Not one to led pride get in the way of anything, I told Randall he could do the final honors and handed the rod off to him while I got a drink of water. A few minutes later they managed to get the hook out of the marlin and successfully released the estimated 180 pound fish.
The only other action that afternoon was a good dorado that Kate landed on one of the trolling rods. Meanwhile, Randall hooked and subsequently broke off another dorado on a fly after it followed the hooked fish near the boat. The captain hadn’t taken the boat out of gear, so the tension when the fish hit was too much for the class tippet. Before long it was time to go back, and the crews on these boats don’t mess around when it’s quitting time.
Shortly after sunrise each morning, we would spot baitfish popping off and fish surfacing along the beach in front of the hotel; both within and out of casting range. This warranted attention, so Randall, Kate, and I decided to postpone breakfast and fish the beach north of the hotel. A few baitfish hit the surface thirty feet from where I was standing. I cast past the bait and slightly further out into the surf. As I stripped my fly, a few more baitfish jumped right over my line. I stripped faster and got my fly to swim through the bait school. Wham! This felt like a good fish, so I was surprised when I brought the 18” jack crevalle up onto the beach. They don’t call them toros for nothing. By this time the fish were not showing themselves anymore, so it was time for some breakfast and roosterfish hunting. On the way back to the hotel, we saw a few places in the sand where the tracks of sea turtles lead to a depression where they had laid their eggs.
Something was different about this day on the beach. The weather was warmer and something just seemed fishy. Randall was the first to the water. “There’s a big barred pargo right here”, he yelled back to us. As it turned out, there were pargo all along the beach. We walked the sandy beach, sight casting to the telltale shadows that gave away their location. The large flies we were fishing for roosterfish didn’t interest the pargo, however, so I soon stopped casting to them and focused on searching for the elusive roosterfish.
It had been 3 days I had now spent in the self-proclaimed “Roosterfish Capital of the World” and I had yet to see a single one of these mysterious fish. Then suddenly, I spotted one. It turned out roosterfish do exist after all. I wasn’t able to cast to this fish, as it was moving quickly away from me and was already out of casting range. With the adrenaline pumping, I continued down the beach. Randall had stopped ahead and was casting, but to what I didn’t know. As I neared his position, I spotted a small fish near shore and decided to cast to it. The fly passed near the fish and suddenly there were 3 fish following the fly. At that moment, I realized these were small bonefish and they were chasing a 5” roosterfish fly. Obviously, the fly was too big for their tiny mouths, but I was fascinated with what had just transpired. Bonefish are known to live in the East Cape area where they are primarily a deep water fish, but are rarely spotted or targeted on the beach. As it turned out, Randall had tied on a small bonefish fly and it was these fish that I had seen him casting to.
I allowed Randall to get ahead of me as we made out way back the way we had come. Keeping a distance between anglers allows you to warn each other of approaching fish that may be swimming toward the other person. We were only about fifty feet apart when Randall threw a quick cast ahead of him. Strip, strip, and suddenly a comb shot up out of the water, only ten feet from shore. The roosterfish hit hard and Randall’s rod bent. “Yeah!!!” I yelled, and then, abruptly, it was all over. We looked at each other, speechless, trying to comprehend what had just happened. The leader had broken at the perfection loop knot at the butt. The combination of abrasive sand and running up and down through the rod guides had taken its toll, and at the worst moment imaginable. It was apparent that Randall was having trouble accepting what had happened, so Kate and I left him to have some time to himself and made our way up the beach.
An ATV appeared in the distance and as it neared, we saw it was being driven by Brad and Claire, the people we had chatted with at the hotel bar the night before. They reported seeing some large milkfish cruising near shore on the other side of the point. While talking with them, we saw Randall making his way back toward us. All of a sudden, he collapsed on the beach. A moment later he got up and was grabbing his foot. “I wonder if he stepped on a dead puffer.” I said. When he finally got to where we were, we found that this was the case. He had been walking along, spotting for roosterfish, and stepped full-force onto a dead, bloated porcupine fish, breaking off a few spines in his foot. Between breaking off a big roosterfish and stepping on a porcupine fish, this was just not Randall’s day. We decided to drive back to the hotel and fish the north beach for a few hours before dinner. We had to check out the next day, leaving us only this evening and the next morning to succeed in hooking and landing a rooster on the fly.
The fishing before dinner was not successful. The wind picked up and I was unfortunate enough to plant a 3/0 popper in my right cheek. Fortunately, it didn’t go in as far as the barb, so it came out easily and didn’t leave too much of a wound. Kate and I gave up early, but Randall made his way nearly all the way to the point. When he returned, he gave us a report on what he had seen. “I was scared!” Randall said of the huge roosterfish that had chased his fly. “If it had taken my fly, I would have lost my fly line in the rocks.” I can’t help but wonder if he was woken from his sleep that night by nightmares of that fish. Meanwhile, I had a little trouble getting to sleep myself after chasing a pair of cockroaches out from under my pillow.
 |
We fished the same beach the next morning at sunrise, but there were few fish showing themselves. Pete caught a pair of small jack crevalle, but the rest of us were skunked. After breakfast we made one last ditch effort for roosterfish, but the fish that had been showing themselves the day before had all but disappeared. I spotted one pair of roosters cruising quickly just out of casting range, but they never came in any closer. Before I knew it, it was time to check out and catch the shuttle to Cabo San Lucas for the last leg of the trip. Before checking out, I had the pleasure of showering with a white scorpion that I noticed on the shower floor. The legend of Room 9 is one that won’t die anytime soon.
“¿bfQué ciudad es esto?” I asked the taxi driver as we made our way past a small town on our way from Punta Colorada. “La Ribera”, he replied. That was the extent of the conversation between the cab driver, Pete, Elizabeth, and me on the way to Cabo. I think we were all tired and I personally had a hard time staying awake during the drive.
We met Grant at his boat in the Cabo harbor at 6:00 in the morning. We were armed with 12 and 14 weight rods, rigged for blue water. After a quick stop for some caballitos for bait, we headed out to the marlin grounds. When we reached the spot, Grant slowed the boat and the teasers were put out behind the boat. We hadn’t been trolling long when Pete called out, “There’s one!” I turned my head and saw the dorsal fin and tail of a marlin ahead of the boat. Unfortunately, this fish wasn’t interested and we couldn’t get him to come to the boat. Throughout the morning, this scenario played out a few more times with billfish that just wouldn’t come to the boat. We even saw a big dorado that wasn’t interested in the teasers or live bait. However, it wasn’t long after before another marlin was slashing at one of the teasers. Randall was up with the fly rod and Grant teased the fish close for a cast. “Cast!” he yelled, and Randall threw the big popper next to fish. It turned and took the fly and I ran for my camera. By the time I got to my camera case on the other side of the boat, the fish had come unbuttoned. Now it was my turn in the hot seat.
With my eyes fixed on the teasers behind the boat, we continued fishing. It had only been about ten minutes when a fish was spotted ahead of the boat. Before I knew it, a sailfish was teased behind the boat and Grant was giving the order to cast. Plop, went the popper as it landed behind the boat. “Strip!” Grant said, and I gave the popper a solid pull. The noise got the attention of the fish and it turned and engulfed the popper. I set the hook with a straight pull and the fish went nuts. After a few jumps and the long initial run, the fish turned and started coming at me. I usually reel with my left hand and felt clumsy trying to retrieve line quickly with my right. Thanks to good boat handling skills and some pointers from Grant during the fight, I was able to keep the sailfish hooked up and got it to the boat for a photo and release.
 |
Since Pete had opted out of fishing for the day in favor of spotting for billfish, it was Randall’s turn to fish again. This gave me a chance to stand at the front of the boat, spotting for fish while at the same time enjoying the scenery of the open ocean. We were miles offshore and with the sun directly overhead, the clouds in the distance were the only indicator of land. We trolled past sea turtles and porpoises swam along the boat; water hitting me in the face when they surfaced to breathe.
We didn’t raise any more billfish before it was time to start venturing back. We had trolled a long way hunting for fish that day; roughly halfway from Cabo to Mazatlan, and the run back was going to take awhile.
“Keep that camera in the case”, Grant warned as we were getting on the boat the next morning. “It’s going to be a wet one today.” He was right; there was a lot more chop on the water than there had been the previous day. The salt spray felt good even at this early hour as we made our way to the day’s fishing location.
We had only been trolling the teasers for a matter of minutes when a bill started slashing at one of them. Grant teased the fish with the live bait and Randall cast for a textbook hookup. The sailfish jumped and ran while Randall applied steady pressure to the fish. “Seven minutes!”, Roberto exclaimed as Grant hoisted the fish into the boat for a photo.
 |
 |
I was hours into my turn with the rod, with only a few brief strikes on the teasers by passing dorado when a flurry of activity erupted around me. I wasn’t even sure what was going on when Grant started yelling “Cast… Cast! Cast!! CAST!!!”, but by then it was too late. Apparently I had just missed a shot at a huge yellowfin tuna that I failed to even see. Randall came in behind me with another rod and hooked up to a smaller tuna of about 25 pounds. We chased the porpoise school, and the tuna that were feeding below it, for a few minutes, but it proved impossible to stay with the school in the choppy water.
Baja offers a level of fly fishing diversity that very few locations can compete with. Within an hour of Los Cabos airport, you can fish for dozens of species from the beaches, inshore, or offshore. A roosterfish from the beach remains the ultimate prize for me, and one I hope to achieve on my next visit. With Baja so close, I’ll certainly be spending some time unraveling its fly fishing opportunities in the years to come.
Roosterfishing for (by) Dummies:
The Fish
Found only in the eastern tropical Pacific, the roosterfish one of the premier targets for beach fishing anglers in its range. Growing to over 50 kilos and noted for being a selective and spooky quarry, it’s easy to understand its popularity.
The Flies
Mullet are the primary food that roosterfish attack on the beach. The ones I saw were 4”-8” in length with white bodies, tan backs and black tips on their tails. To match these baitfish, we used sparsely tied, translucent hairwing patterns and also more imitative, fat-headed patterns that were more representative of the mullet. Eyes are important, as is a black-tipped tail.
Ballyhoo and sardina are also found along the beaches, so you would be wise to bring some patterns to represent these species as well. Generic baitfish patterns such as Clousers and Deceivers are good to have for the smaller beach species.
The Gear
With the large fish, big flies, and afternoon winds, a 10 to 12 weight rod is a must for beach fishing. A fast action rod will help punch large flies into the wind. Make sure your reel is bulletproof, lightweight, and can hold a lot of backing. Clear tip or intermediate lines are best. Shooting heads will work too, but I found the afternoon winds make line management difficult with thin running lines. Bring plenty of 20#-40# leader material. A stripping basket is a must, as is a hook file. The sand can and will dull your hooks quickly.
Stealth is critical; wear clothes that match the color of the sand. Lightweight, quick-drying clothes are the way to go since you’ll definitely get wet. Dehydration is a serious concern when there is no shade and it’s pushing 100 degrees, so make sure you have a hydration pack or several water bottles.