Not every fishing trip can be legendary, and my last adventure in Baja certainly fell into the mediocre category. Some cold weather moved in and fishing slowed just before I arrived. We did find a few fish, but in all but a few cases, I just couldn't connect with them. From the very beginning, missed connections would form a central theme on this trip.

It all started at the Los Cabos airport. I flew in on Alaska Airlines and my friend Tyler was arriving via Mexicana. What we didn't know is that international arrivals arrive at both terminals. Sure enough, I arrived at one terminal within minutes of when Tyler arrived at the other. Since I was renting a Jeep, I hopped into the Advantage shuttle van and told the driver that my friend should be at the other terminal. We drove over there and waited outside the arrivals exit. After the entire Mexicana flight had gone through the doors, there was still no Tyler. Presuming he had gone to the other terminal looking for me, I had the driver drop me at the rental office to fill out the paperwork while he went searching for Tyler. Fortunately, a few minutes later the shuttle driver came back with him in tow.

With our gear loaded in the back of the Jeep, we hit Carretera Uno and headed for Cabo San Lucas. After checking into our hotel, having a bite to eat and a couple of Pacifico cervesas, then rigging our rods for the day ahead, it was off to sleep for an early start in the morning.

On Tuesday morning, we met Roberto and Vincent, our guides for the day, outside Baja Anglers. We decided we would go offshore for marlin our first day, then fish inshore the second day. For gear, I had my Thomas & Thomas Bluewater rod coupled with a 15wt SA Billfish Taper on my trusty Islander LX 4.8 reel, with a pink and white Cam Sigler popper rigged with tandem Owner hooks. We also had a backup 14wt and some lighter rods in case we ran into some other species throughout the day.






It was a long run to the marlin grounds, but we hadn't been trolling the teasers for too long before we spotted our first striped marlin free jumping. "Marlin!", I yelled, and we gunned it for the fish. Roberto cast a live mackerel that lasted about ten seconds before the pulsing, lit-up marlin separated the doomed mackerel's head from the rest of its body. He cast a caballito next, and the marlin gave chase. "Cast! Now!" exclaimed Roberto, and I made my cast and twitched the fly a few times. Nothing. I cast again with the same result before we decided to move on. Another miss.

Just a few minutes later, we spotted another marlin basking on the surface. Tyler had graciously offered to let me continue my turn in the hotseat after the last miss, so I was up again. As we came alongside the fish and the teaser bait was cast, the marlin turned and charged at the bait. We thought for sure he would annihilate it, but instead he just kept going, deeper with every stroke of his tail, until the marlin was completely out of sight. "You're up...", I told Tyler.

A few more marlin made themselves known throughout the course of the afternoon, but none of them gave us a really good shot, so we decided to head in a little early, hoping to find some other fish on the way back to Cabo. We were about halfway back when the captain eased back on the throttle. Ahead of us was a huge area of nervous water that looked like a giant bait school from a distance. It was deceiving however, as the disturbance was being caused by dozens of large jack crevalle on the move.

"Cast!", Roberto ordered as the first group of aggressive jacks split from the school to chase down his teaser plug. I stripped the fly as fast as I could as the slashing jacks came closer to the boat. I could swear one of them looked me in the eye before they spooked at the boat and darted away. Roberto kept throwing the plug while Vincent kept the boat in position with the fast moving school.




"Got him! Yeah!" I palmed the reel as the big jack made its first run deep into my backing. Once he slowed down, I was able to adjust the drag knob to turn the fight in my favor. My 12 weight was bent to the handle as I cranked my backing in. When the fly line finally came back through the tip top, I was feeling like I was winning. I was soon able to see the fish and tried to ease him toward the boat, but the fish wanted no part of it. The jack was at the boat three more times before we finally had it in the net. The skunk was off and I was feeling good!

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Grant seemed a little disappointed the next morning when I told him we were planning to fish inshore instead of going after billfish again. I would have been happy to stare at the teasers all day, but I could tell offshore fishing under less than ideal conditions wasn't Tyler's cup of tea.

Today, Roberto and Vincent took us up the Pacific coast in search of cubera snapper, yellowtail, and roosterfish. A cold wind was blowing from the northwest, stirring up large waves that crashed over the bow, drenching us from head to toe. Roberto fired the teaser plug into the green water near shore, reeling it in so fast that it spent more time cartwheeling through the air than chugging in the water. Yellowtail and roosterfish crashed on the plug, but few chased it back to the boat for me to present a fly.

"Coming!... Cast! Now!!"

I launched the fly straight at the fish that was madly chasing the plug. "Yes!", yelled Roberto when the fly landed perfectly in line with the excited roosterfish. Just as I was about to start my retrieve, I looked down to find my line had tangled around the rod and the stripping guide. I had an excited fish, a perfect cast, and no way to retrieve my fly. By now a heavy fog was rolling in fast, so we turned around and headed back to calmer waters. Vast schools of sierra mackerel and skipjack tuna were everywhere, but these fish were on the move and weren't interested in feeding. Meanwhile, cubera snapper and sierra were reported to be active right in front of our hotel.

Leaving the Cabo San Lucas Marina in the morning

Tyler was the first to hook up on a sierra, his first fish of the trip. He was about to release it when Vincent and I stopped him. "Dude, keep that for ceviche", I explained. Tyler obliged, and the sierra's fate was decided. It wasn't long before I too was connected to a big sierra. I put a lot of heat on the fish with the 12 weight and had it to the boat quickly. It must have still been a little green, for when Roberto grabbed it at the boat, it managed to slip from his hands as he pulled the fly from its sharp teeth. Roberto said it was a big sierra, and although it was technically a caught fish, I still would have liked to have had a photo.

On the way back to the marina, we spotted some fish attacking bait just outside of El Arco. This time it was yellowtail causing the carnage. Several of the yellowtail exploded on the teaser plug and chased it close enough for me to cast, but they wanted nothing of my fly. At one point, I had my fly dangling in the water next to the boat while waiting to cast when I looked down and saw three yellowtail staring at my fly. I made a quick strip and the fish bolted. Not long after, I picked up to cast just as a huge roosterfish came after my fly and pulled it away from him. Things were not going well and we finally had to call it a day.

Back at the condo, Tyler took a short siesta while I went to the store for tomato, onion, limes, and crackers. Later that evening, we feasted on ceviche and watched roosterfish crashing bait in the surf in front of the hotel.

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It was liberating to finally hit the open road to go explore and fish on our own. The roof on the windowless Jeep squeaked and flapped in the wind as we wound into the mountains. The desert transformed into a lush, tropical valley near the town of San Bartolo, with signs along the highway for fresh mangos and other local specialties. The topes, Mexican speed bumps much larger than those in the US, forced us to slow down and get a good look at the town. San Bartolo seemed like a cool place. If we didn't have roosterfish on our minds, we might have stayed awhile. Instead, we continued on our quest and left the main highway in favor of a shortcut that Grant had recommended.

"Dude, this is so Baja!", Tyler exclaimed with a huge smile on his face. Twenty foot tall cacti surrounded us and a washboarded dirt road stretched far into the desert ahead. It really was so Baja.

The author with a big jack crevalle

Arriving at the beach, anticipation running high, Tyler and I rigged up quickly. Shallow green water turned to deep blue not far offshore. We had just rounded the point when I heard Tyler's excited yells. His rod had a slight bend to it, but the fish wasn't huge. Still, I could not believe that he had hooked into his first fish from a Mexican beach and it had turned out to be a roosterfish; "the permit of the Pacific". As the baby pez gallo darted back into the surf from Tyler's hand, more roosterfish began to appear around us. Hundreds of mullet swam lazily about as the predators - needlefish, jacks, as well as the roosters - picked off the unfortunate baitfish from the edges of the school. Giant needlefish thrashed across the surface and the namesake dorsals of the roosterfish sliced through the water as the roosters cruised just under the surface.

I was completely caught up in the excitement when a big roosterfish started swimming into casting range to my right. Just as I began false casting, a splash erupted at my feet to the left and I looked down to see a ten pound rooster turn and make a run back to deeper water. Shaking, I dumped my cast and the big rooster continued past. Roosterfish don't loiter and if you miss your shot, that's it; wait for the next fish to come. Luckily for me, they kept coming. A group of three medium sized roosterfish came cruising from the left a short time later. I made a perfect cast ahead of the fish and ripped the fly back as fast as I could. Much to my own disbelief, one of the roosters broke away from the others and started to chase the fly. I stripped faster and ran backwards up the beach. Just as the fly was in danger of washing onto the sand in a wave, the roosterfish made a final dash and grabbed the mullet imitation. I felt the weight of the fish and stripped to set the hook, launching the fly up onto the sand while the rooster turned and swam off, out of my life forever. At that point in the trip, another missed connection was not surprising in the least.

Things began to slow as the tide changed and we started our way back around the point to where we had parked the Jeep. It had been a good day and we decided to drive back to Cabo so we wouldn't have to do the drive in the dark. Or so we thought...

By the time we came to a stop, the tire was completely flat. A two inch gash in the sidewall was evidence of how easily one's plans can change. Now this truly was "so Baja". With daylight fading, we didn't waste any time. Unfortunately, a 6" hydraulic jack is virtually useless when trying to lift a four wheel drive Jeep on a gravel road. Tyler hunted for some flat rocks to stack under the Jeep while I got the spare unlocked. We were able to get the Jeep raised with a combination of a fully extended jack with Tyler lifting the bumper while I squeezed more rocks under the jack. We managed to get the flat tire off, but there wasn't enough room to get the spare on, so we dug the dirt out from under the axle with our hands to make room. We were dirty, sweaty, and tired when we finally got moving again. The relief when we reached the paved road was short lived however, as we had two hours of dodging cows in the dark to look forward to.

Tyler's Roosterfish

All of the Jeeps at Advantage were rented out the next morning when we stopped in to exchange our flat tire. We didn't want to take the risk of making the drive again without a spare, so we traded in our 4x4 Jeep for a Volkswagen station wagon and hit the highway.

The conditions were identical to those of the prior day. As Tyler and I walked toward the point, a pair of huge roosterfish came cruising toward me. A quick cast delivered the fly right where I wanted it. I made a quick strip the get the roosters' attention, and they continued on their way as if my fly didn't exist. "At least my cast was good", I thought to myself. The mullet school from yesterday was still there, as were the aggressive needlefish. Working up and down the beach, we kept expecting the roosterfish to show at any time, but they never did. We managed to keep ourselves entertained with needlefish and cornetfish, but it was disappointing nonetheless.

Ceviche!

By the time we returned to the car, the local commercial fleet had returned from the day of fishing and only a few fishermen were left cleaning their catch. Marlin, dorado, tuna, ladyfish, pompano, triggerfish, and snapper were amongst the myriad of carcasses littering the beach. It was a disturbing sight, and one I wished more people would witness firsthand to make them think about where those fillets in their local supermarket come from.

Cornetfish on a 12 weight

Was it a legendary trip? No, not really. We caught fish and made the best of the situation and had a lot of fun doing it, so it was a success. If nothing else, my personal vendetta with roosterfish is at an all time high because of it.

I'll be back.