| Roosters and Leopards and Sharks OH MY!
An original story by: Kurt Bickel
All photographs by: Kurt Bickel (Chapter 3 of 3) We arrive back in town around seven that evening. Huge crowds (by Bahia
Tortuga standards) are out in the town square, celebrating independence
day. The dusty
We find a small two table burrito/taco place. For 80 cents a piece,
the tacos are impossible to beat ( see travelers note #3). We end up ordering
something like 14
The little taqeuria doesn’t serve beer, so we head down to the Mini Super Mercado. The name is somewhat oxymoronic but hey, the Tecate is ice cold. We approach the counter and the lady rattles off something that sounds like "Donde estaban de Jesus botteles refundomento esquilito desopsito si buenos guachos". Nate and I get that glazed, blank expression that says "Dumb gringo
didn’t pay attention during high school Spanish". The lady stares at us
for a minute, then says "I
Nate and I look at each other with that glazed expression that says "My god, either I’ve had some kind of translational epiphany or that lady just spoke to us in perfect English!" (After all the travel and diving, this become the face de joir. If Miss
Mexico had walked by and offered to accompany us back to the room she would
have been met
Turns out she went to school at UCLA. Nate almost blows the deal by
telling her his family are all USC grads (THE rival school). She meets
this guy from Bahia
Back to Motel Nancy for a cold beer and a shower, then hit the sack. We wake up the next day and head out to meet our guide. We’re running a little late (OK, way late) so it’s the "on top" mode of driving to his house. We arrive about an hour late. We wake up our guide, who greets us and heads to the Banos (bathroom) a small, short plywood structure perched precariously on the edge of a cliff, a plywood sheet propped against the opening as a door. My guess is with the hurricane coming in right on top of the village this structure will be washing ashore in the Philippines sometime next month. We load our gear in the panga and head out a few miles to the spot.
Donning our gear, I notice that we don’t have any of those funny long things
that attach to your feet.
We jump in and start to load guns. I notice that I’m heading south at an alarming rate of speed. It’s a full moon and the current is absolutely BLASTING in this spot, especially if you’re on top of a pinnacle. I’m at 75% kick just to stay even. I slide back from the boat, moving around over several pinnacles. The water is murky, maybe 20 feet of vis. I watch a turtle cruise over a small stand of kelp when suddenly the big shoulders of a 30-40 LB yellowtail breeze in 20 feet below me… The yellowtail is swimming right below me, inline against the
current. At best it’s a long, extremely difficult shot. I hold over the
spot for a few seconds, until the fish
It’s a slow process fighting the current. My legs and I are adjusting
to the new fins (after three years and much abuse, one of my well traveled
Cressi 2000’s finally
Nate's story: I drop in, relishing the cool water, and look around. The quick survey
shows moderate visibility -- 15 to 20 feet -- and a strong current. I begin
swimming up
The rock we are diving breaks the surface, and while sizeable, the
largest swells wash over it violently. Beneath the surface, up current,
a spine extends 100
I swim out along the right shoulder of the spine and immediately
two yellowtail swim beneath me. I aim at the biggest one. An explosion
in my hand, the fish
I swim out to the knuckle. It's a good spot. Current washes over
the knuckle creating a slight upwelling. A school of blacksmith dance to
my left. Small
I dive for half an hour fighting the building current and begin to
wonder if I've missed my best chance. I look up and the ballyhoo are coming
at me, down
I wait. Out of the murk comes an impossibly big yellowtail. He's close and
coming at me, down current, at a slight angle from left to right. Perfect.
He keeps coming
I fire. The shaft penetrates between the pectoral and gill plate
and passes through, stringing him. The fish swims about a body length before
exploding. He's
From the surface I'm able to grab my end of the shooting line, and
by kicking as hard as my skinny legs can kick, I can barely manage the
fish. I know it is
Finally the fish begins to tire and I try to bring it to me hand
over hand. I must be careful where the shooting line goes as I pull it
up. Don't want to get
He's mine. NB I kick ahead, more determined. There is a second pinnacle ahead of the outcropping, about 40 feet deep at the top. I find that if I stay on the land side of the reef, I can hold my own and make progress against the current. Moving to the ocean side the flow picks up even more, making it nearly impossible even to hold position, let alone move ahead. I make a few dives, and am seeing small (20lb) ‘tails moving in and out over the rock. I line several up, but hold on the shot. I have traveled this far for a special fish, a personal best. I can feel the presence of bigger fish, and watch the bait carefully for signs of predators. Every few minutes I’m surrounded by barracuda, slowly circling. The bait scatters and my senses heighten, only to see five bonito streak in, hammering a few small fish as they rocket away. Nate has kicked even with me, and we take turns diving. It’s a
pleasure watching a good diver in action, and I’m enjoying watching Nate
lay on the bottom, staring off into the haze. We make several more dives
and I hear a gun go off. Looking out I see Nate has shot another big yellow,
apparently stoning it.
A few minutes later I am surfacing when a group of five bruisers show
up. One fish separates and moves to my left, my good side. It’s within
ten feet as I aim down
The shot is near perfect, just missing the spine. The fish explodes in a fury. I grab my float line and can feel the strength of this fish as it tugs at the slip tip, flailing back and forth under me. Suddenly I am pulled horizontal as the fish makes a run towards the open ocean. I move my fins out to slow its progress and after 100 feet it tires of towing me and begins to bang against the rocky bottom, trying to dislodge the spear. I remember losing a big ‘tail in Loreto the same way, and thank my stars that I have the right equipment for the job this time. The Maldanado (blatant product reference) tip is doing its job. It finds a small outcropping with a crevice, and quickly wraps my line. I swim down and give the line slack, freeing it from the rock. The fish begins to tire and I begin to make some progress on the line, pulling hand over hand until I can dive down and grab the fish by the eyes. The fight with the fish is over. It goes limp in my hand and I have a chance to catch my breath
and judge my position relative to the panga. My heart sinks as I find myself
on the ocean side of the
I try to streamline myself as much as possible, but trying to hold the gun, spear, and the large 'tail in anything resembling a tuck is nearly impossible. I bear down, putting everything I have into my kick, to no avail. A word about body shape and its effect on progress through the water. For a comparison of Nate and I think Hakeem Olijewon and Charles Barkley, with Nate being the former. I have a bit more frontal area to present to the current. While keeping me warmer in Northern California’s 45-55 degree water, my body shape doesn’t lend itself to fighting a raging current. I yell to our guide. "Aqui" (HERE!), and try to wave him over. I hold up the fish and he smiles and waves, thinking I’m showing him the fish, then lays back down in the sun. To quote Cool Hand Luke "What we have here is a FAILURE to communicate" I see Nate nearby and yell to him to give me a hand. He looks at me a little quizzically when I tell him the current is too strong. "Just go around the rock" he says. Right. I‘ve been to the backside of the rock and know the current is only a little less than it is where we are. I also know that there is no plan B, that this is the only chance we have of even making it back to the boat. It’s a short current ride to the end of the rock, but a long hard kick to try to make it around. My hand, still gripping the eyes of the fish is starting to cramp. I put my head down and feel my legs burn. Our progress can be measured a foot at a time, if that. We are probably 50 yards or more away form the panga. I’m not having fun. I here an outboard motor and hope it’s our guide. I look up and see a couple of lobster fisherman we had met the day before slide by in a panga. They motion to see if I want to get into the boat. Tough call. "SI!!!!!" They move over and their eyes light up when I hand them the fish. I climb in and "gracias". They are looking longingly at the fish, and begin motioning as if to ask if they can have some. I tell them "si", after we take pictures. This conversation has only taken a few minutes, but already we’ve drifted another 50 yards south. I see Nate just ahead, still fighting the current. I have the fish,
the gear, the lunches, and the combination to the car. I also know where
the money is stashed.
"Me Amigo, Si" I say as I motion for them to pick Nate up. He looks
glad to get in the boat. We motor over to our guide who looks a little
put off that we are going to give the fish to the two lobstermen, and that
we couldn’t even swim back to the boat. Pictures taken, I give the fish
to the my new friends, who gently slide the fish into the shade. I’ve got
a feeling that yellowtail will be on several dinner plates tonight. We
take a breather and our guide remarks how Nate has two fish in the boat
and Ionly have one. We return to the water, working the front side of the upstream pinnacle. I miss on a shot on another bruiser. A few minutes later I’m watching Nate lay on the bottom, strumming the bands of his gun. A shot goes off and I watch him surface slowly, trying to pull his shooting line up from the bottom. Its an obvious struggle, and he is stuck at 25 feet, making no headway to the surface. He finally realizes the fish has wrapped and he slides to the surface, holding onto the float line. His small buoy submerges against the current, so we hook the floatline up to my bigger float. The current is going so hard that both floats occasionally submerge. The fish is tied to a clump of kelp on the bottom, in 45 feet of water. This would not present a problem in normal circumstances, but the current has made it a hard 75’ dive swimming and pulling all the way. Between the adrenaline and fatigue we are having a heck of a time reaching the fish, with not a lot of bottom time to cut it loose. We head back to the panga to rest and get another knife. I decide to take little longer of a breather as Nate gets back in the water. Our guide is in his early to mid 20’s, and is obviously high on the pecking order in his village. He motions to me to use my mask and fins. I hand them to him. This kid is probably think "Soft gringos, can’t swim, can’t get
the fish, let me show them how to do it" . He puts on the gear and jumps
in next to Nate. They begin
Noticeable attitude adjustment. Fat gringo not so soft after all. Nate has made progress, cutting some of the kelp away. I swim over the fish, pump up, and head down. Visibility has dropped to 20 or so feet, so we’re running on mental GPS and try to follow the clear floatline to the fish. I hit bottom and, using my shears, cut the last two stalks of kelp loose. I start swimming up, pulling the huge clump of kelp and fish up with me. At 30 feet I realize this won’t happen in one dive. I surface and begin hand over handing the line, until the mess of fish, line, and kelp is at the surface. We swim it back to the boat, untangle the mess, and put the fish in the panga. This has taken us 45 minutes, and the day is over. We motor back to the village, and make arrangements for the following day. Figuring there are more fish to be had, we give our guide the remaining yellowtail. Riding back over the washboard to Bahia Tortuga, a bit of fatigue begins to settle in. Despite the brutal road, I find myself nodding off, only to be awakened when the window glass slams into my head. This will happen several times on the way back to town, a testimonial for both shatterproof glass and the thickness of my skull. We head to the Super Mini Mercado, turn in our beer bottles for full ones, and grab some amazingly cold Gatorade out of the cooler. If you think that after 7 days of drinking Gatorade as your primary fluid that you wouldn’t want to see another bottle of the stuff, you’ve never been to Baja in September. In a place where the median temperature never goes below 90, it’s truly the nectar of the gods. It’s also not bad with tequila in a pinch. We talk over dinner options. In Bahia Tortuga this does not take long.
There are only the two eateries that we found in town, so it’s that or
whatever you bring. We
Nate smiles and inquires "Abierto?" ("Open?"). The lady still is eyeing us hard. She speaks. "Comeja?"(food) "Si!" In retrospect I’m wondering what else she thought we could have wanted. Or what she could have offered for that matter. "No. Siete", she says dismissively. No food till seven. It’s just before six. We’re starving. We decide to try Hotel Veracruz. The Hotel is a large white compound located at a high point in town. It’s one of the easier places to navigate to. A word about finding your way around Bahia Tortuga. You can’t. What you do is look for the main street and try to work your way from a point of reference, like the police station. The grid system and uniform street design is late finding it’s way to BT. For people from Europe where some of the streets have evolved over thousands of years from footpaths this may not seem like a problem. But for people from the states who grew up never having made anything but a 90 degree turn on a city street, where each intersection is at exact ½ or ¼ mile intervals, it’s downright perplexing. The only street signs consist of the occasional piece of cardboard
with things like "El Camino de Muetra" scrawled in crayon on it. We didn’t
stop to ask about the
The other point of reference in town is , of course, the ocean. The only problem was that the point of reference had flooded out one of the main intersections, cutting the town in two. Early on we became so frustrated by our inability to find our way around "Lake Tortuga", that we actually considered blowing up the inflatable to ford the intersection. With White Zombie’s "Pyscoholic Slag" playing on the CD player, we pull up to the Hotel. Weirdly enough, we can hear rock music playing outside. We look over to see two teenage kids sitting on the front step of a house, boom box blaring. They have that universal small town "I can’t wait to get the hell out of this burg and go to the big city and party and get a job and chase babes and buy a motorcycle or wait maybe a Firebird with mags and a killer stereo and a copy of Playboy this place sucks" look on their face. Nate discourages me from getting into a "let’s see who can crank the tunes loudest" match with the kids. We go into the Hotel and sit down. Dos Pacificos and we’re ready to
order. Nate gets fish, I order breaded clams. The TV news from Mexico City
is showing three
Time passes. We drink sodas. More time passes. More sodas. Nate
is quietly staring off into space, I’m watching "El Chico", "El Lobo",
and "El Gato" have their
Jesus, please get me my food and let me go to bed. I find my head on the table when the waitress finally arrives with the plates. I shake Nate, who is still staring off into oblivion, back into consciousness, and tell him "Eat my friend, you must eat for strength". I look down and frankly see nothing on my plate that resembles a clam. It appears that someone has taken either old abalone foot trimmings or shoe soles, breaded and deep fried them. For days. In motor oil. Until black. I’m so damn hungry that I eat two of these four "clams" before I become completely disgusted. Nate’s meal is not much better. The refried beans are excellent, so they disappear along with the rice. The meal costs around $20 (see travelers tip #3). We leave, and head back to the hotel. I pass out on the bed within seconds. …I dream that I am on a stone altar in some Mayan city. Montezuma
himself has a large roosterfish in his hands. He is covered in breaded
clams. He raises the fish
I wake up to stabbing intestinal pain…after an hour of this I feel the need to run to the bathroom. Returning back to bed, I take an loperimide tablet, and try to get back to sleep… …Montezuma is again hitting me in the stomach with the roosterfish,
only this time the priests are making incredibly loud raspberry/motorboat
sounds with their
I wake up to more stabbing pain and someone revving an unmuffled diesel just outside of our window. The Tecate truck driver is apparently in a celebritory mood, after (I guess) making it from Gurrero Negro in one piece. It’s only like 2 AM, so hey, WHY NOT WAKE EVERYONE UP! I feel an incredible pain, and run to the bathroom again… After spending a miserable night clutching my stomach, morning finally
rolls around. Despite not feeling well himself, Nate is repacking the truck.
I find I have enough
"I don’t know about today. I’m feeling pretty foul" We talk about options, and finally Nate (who must read Tony Robbins motivational books or something) says, "You’ve come this far, sometime you just gotta do it" The box of medicine says "Take no more than four tablets a day". I’ve already taken four and the rumbling in my gut says they weren’t enough. I think back and realize that hey, I took two before midnight. That was YESTERDAY. Therefore it’s OK to take two more. I do. We finish loading the truck. I try to eat a few things that hopefully will not exacerbate my problem. We head out to the panga. Travelers hint #8: Bad dirt roads do nothing to minimize "Revenge". I clutch my toilet paper and suffer through each pothole. We finally
get to the pangas. We wake up our guide. Yellowtail must be an aphrodisiac,
because the kid has
It’s off to the same spot. It’s gotten rougher and I’m feeling a little queasy, so as a precaution I take a Dramamine. We get in the boat, inventorying equipment to make sure we have everything. Yes, the fins are there. We’re off. In a few minutes the combination of drugs has made me feel positively
foggy. We get in the water, and are greeted by the ever popular current.
It’s changed from
In the water, my bottom time and diving ability is plain shot. I dive to 20 feet, stay a few seconds, and feel dizzy and out of breath. I’m more interested in watching the turtle below me, flying slowly through the water, occasionally stopping to peck some morsel off a rock, than I am in spearing anything. I’m half watching this turtle, half sleeping, when a ‘tail breezes in below me. It’s around 30 lb. or so. I shoot low, and spear sails harmlessly under the fish. The Cannon has finally missed it’s mark. I’m not looking forward to the restringing and reloading process. I struggle with the gun, finally getting it all sorted out. Suddenly, I hear a huge *bang*! Scares the *%^&!! out of me (fortunately not literally). One of my wishbones has come undone from a band, hence the noise. Great. I look over and see Nate with another hog yellow. Ah, what the heck, I’ll keep hunting with one less band. The tails are unwilling to come to the surface, I’m unwilling/unable
to go down and get them. I’m outta here. Back to the boat, strip off the
gear, and start casting the
"Ah, Rapala! Muy bien por dorado". The whole way down we’ve been chanting this mantra: "Dodo’s, must kill dodo’s!" Well, if we can’t spear one maybe we’ll rod and reel one. We take turns holding the rod as we troll back and forth in front of this island. Finally I hook up a fish. It fights hard, and we’re optimistic. I finally get the thing close to the boat, and we get to eyeball it. Yellowtail, maybe 7 pounds. Oh boy. A few more passes with no luck and we decide to anchor near the
island. Nate wants to dive the spot, I want to lay in the sun. I tell Nate
to scout it out, and let me
A few minutes later he turns around and swims back to the boat. "It’s a little spooky out there". I look into his eyes and see the pupils have taken on the shape of a shark. There are people out there who would have chided him for being afraid,
or who would have tried to shame him back in the water. I put some stock
in intuition of this
We tell the guide we want to fish some more. While he struggles with
the anchor, the lobster guys who picked us up before have come by. They
are having engine
"Ah Rapala!" "Rapala!" "Rapala muy bien!" Nate takes off the lure and gives it to them. Kids at Christmas couldn’t be happier. Looks like all the motor needed was a Rapala, because they try it again, and it starts immediately. They motor off, thanking Nate for the lure. In the meantime Carlos has been struggling with the anchor. We start talking about who will go down and free it when Carlos gets the Universal Boatman Look #6 on his face. "The anchor line has broken. I have lost the anchor. I will have to replace the anchor, after having to endure the ridicule of my friends." We’re outta here. Carlos will receive the yellowtails for his trouble and anchor. We decide we’ve had enough of Bahia Tortuga. We detour on the way back to Tortuga, stoping at another small village. The surf has kicked up and near perfect waves, Hawaii 5-0 waves, break and roll into the beach. There’s a good right break and an awesome left break. I wish I surfed. A dozen photos later and it’s back to town. It’s early afternoon when we hit the road out of town. We leave with a few bottles of Gatorade, a couple of bags of chips, and some incredible memories. We will be back. On the ride out we find we are in luck. The grader has come in from
the highway, leaving the washboard in most places nothing more than a memory.
We make good time to the pavement, and head north. Every few miles on Mexico 1 you see a sign with the word "Vado" on it.
These are markers for low points in the road that become flooded with water
and debris if there are rains. They also become local swimming holes, the
kids enjoying the waves kicked up by the cars and trucks trying to drive
across the local pool. They also seem to take great pleasure watching the
drivers trying to get their flooded vehicles re-started.
When these holes dry up the local government sends out 10 guys with shovels to clear the mud, dirt and rocks left over from the flood. This is good. What is bad is that state of the art highway markers in Baja consist of a single orange cone placed about 3 feet ahead of where the workers are. This is not a problem unless there is a rise in the road just before the "vado", and you’re driving an overloaded sport utility. This adds great excitement to the drive home, as does the "Datsun Truck Driver". Somewhere, nestled deep in the mountains of Baja, there is a heavily guarded chain link enclosure. Razor wire tops the fences, and well armed sentries peer suspiciously from elevated gun towers. It is here that the Mexican government develops their surreptitious bio tech industry. It is here that they clone the "Datsun Truck Driver". On the road between Vizciano and Guerrero Negro you will, with alarming regularity, find yourself on the highway behind a painfully slow, beat up, and dusty Datsun mini pickup. Never a Toyota, Chevy, or other truck. Always a Datsun. You will invariably be stuck behind them on a tight, winding stretch of road, full of blind corners. The speed of these trucks never exceeds 25 MPH. It will take you several minutes before you finally can pass them. After the fifth truck it suddenly occurred to me that the same person
was driving each truck. Same short, dark featured individual. Same wispy
beard and mustache.
I point this out to Nate. After we pass a few more DTD’s we’re getting
the willies. Why is the government cloning these people? Why are they having
them drive up
We finally hit Guerrero Negro and check into a motel. An OK dinner and we collapse into our beds. The next morning, it’s back on the road. By this time the fatigue, sickness, and endless days of diving and driving have finally caught up to me. We are 10 days into the trip and I’m at a point where all I want to do is find a quiet place to rest for a couple of days. Naturally, when Nate suggests stopping in San Quintin to see how the fishing is I give him an emphatic no! Yeah right. I’m a junkie. Junkies never say no to a fix. We find ourselves strolling around the "Old Mill’, making inquiries about spearfishing guides. We get vague directions to "Kelly’s" house, and end up on a dead end dirt road, with about 5 houses spread out around the area. We look for some clue as to which house is Kelly’s. No one is home as we check four of the five and head to the last one. I get out of the car and walk around the house to a porch area. "Nate" "Huh?" "This is it" "How do ya figure?" I’m staring at a very large grouper skull, hung on one of the porch roof supports. Above it is an even bigger skull, of what could be a grouper or black sea bass. It’s what my place would look like if I wasn’t married (my wife tolerates all the abalone and other shells, fish heads are another matter). "Look" "Yep, this is it" No one is home so we leave a note and head back to the restaurant /bar
at the Old Mill. For weeks before the trip fish tacos filled my dreams.
At every place we’ve
Fish Tacos. Nate and I order. Really GOOD fish tacos and cold Pacifico beer, looking out the window as kayakers and fisherman fight the tide which ripples the shimmering water of the bay. Bliss. Travelers note #9: If fish tacos are on the menu at the Old Mill, get there early. We were able to get them at lunch, after that they were sold out. Travelers note #10: If you hang out in the office at night to use the phone, you can get free tequila shots. We meet Kelly, and arrange the next days dive. Sitting around after dinner, we look across the courtyard to see a very
ill, limping dog hobble towards a pan near a faucet. The dog is obviously
old, and has a badly
I’ll admit to being an unabashed dog person. I’ve got two of the most spoiled bird dogs at home (Labradors) at least one of which keeps my feet warm as I type. The condition and care of many dogs in Baja leaves me appalled. I realize that when you don’t have many resources pet care is not high on your list of things to spend time and money on, but this doesn’t make it any easier for me to see dogs in this condition. The dogs must have figured this out because the next morning we are greeted at our door by "Ol’ One Eye", a short, friendly little dog, who handles the wake up calls for the hotel by whimpering at your door. Appropriate tipping for this service seems to be pieces of power bar. I’m glad somebody or something still likes these. We meet Kelly and begin the long ride out to the hunting grounds. On
the way out we swap stories, Kelly regaling us with tales about various
members of the
Of particular note was a story about one of the most famous members
taking a group of divers to Guadalupe Island, a renowned Great White Shark
habitat, having
We hit a couple of spots, including the famous "240", a pinnacle that rises up from several thousand feet to less that 2 feet below the surface. Scary for boat owners, but it’s an absolutely awesome dive, and I wish I was in better shape to enjoy it. The vis is somewhat limited, but there is plenty of activity, including the biggest "wall" of yellowtail I’ve seen. I had made a 40 foot dive, hung out for a while and began to surface. Just before hitting air, I looked down to see Kelly gliding to the bottom, where he is swarmed by 50-60 yellowtail in the 20 pound range, who were following me up. They bend in unison as they approach him, veering back into the haze. Kelly has recently seen marlin, tuna, and dodos in this spot, but our luck is not as good this day. Nate shoots one ‘tail, I catch a small yellowfin providing some evidence of our trip for the dinner table back home. I spend a few minutes hovering next to a huge mola mola, tucked in next to an outcropping. It’s a place with great potential. We will be back. Many hours later we find ourselves being waved through customs, (my border crossing karma finally reverses) and as we return to the states a sense of both happiness and melancholy hit me. I’m glad to be going home to see my wife and dogs, to be able to get a milkshake and a burger, a clean bed, and a some cool (er) weather. But not too far in the back of my mind is amazing, warm water, teeming
with fish of incredible size…the subtle noise and pressure of 70 feet of
water…a large shark
Story and photos by Kurt Bickel Back to Roger's Spearfishing Page
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Nate and his sardine
In the lobster boat
Salt Ponds, road from Bahia Tortuga
