Day 10/11, Quality is not in the numbers.
I’m sure some of you are saying, “Will this guy PLEASE give us a rest!” but what I saw today is something I have to tell of.
I had come up with a new idea for fishing Dorado alone. I’d use sailfish tactics and use hookless teasers to bring the fish up close and then use a right to left cast across the back of the boat after killing the engine. I took the hooks out of my hoochies. If the idea worked I could forsake both bait and Judas fish.
On day ten I headed north to where I thought the Dorado might be found and started trolling. It was a long day, 15 gallons of gas, 60 total miles on the boat and not a single Dorado. I did catch some giant needle fish using the technique but no Dorado.
Day eleven. If north doesn’t work, head south. I went out a total of 14 miles from Mulege, past Pt. Concepcion and then trolled four miles further out. No needlefish. No nothing. I turned north and set a course on my GPS twenty miles from the coast and alternately ran and trolled, a half hour trolling, 15 minutes of running. I did this till noon with zero results. I was discouraged, two days without a single Dorado and no chance to test my new idea.
I reeled in the hoochies and set a course for El Sombrerito, the entrance to Mulege harbor. I had just started planing when I saw a giant school of dolphin about a mile off, jumping and playing. I had seen hundreds of such schools and debated whether to visit them. Dolphin are such fun creatures I decided maybe they’d brighten my otherwise down day and changed course.
About a quarter mile away I could see there was something definitely wrong with the picture. These dolphin were shining GOLD. I closed on the scene and saw hundreds of Dorado airborne, leaping franticly into huge balls of mackerel. I checked my boat to windward of the frenzy. Five bait balls, each the size of a backyard swimming pool, were being ripped by thousands of Dorado. My boat was being blown into the center of this melee. I didn’t know whether to grab my fly rod or my camera. My fly rod won.
I cast into what must have been an area as big as a bedroom filled with the black oily color of mackerel as huge bulls jumped six feet high and plunged into the center of the bait while smaller Dorado worked the outside in a circle keeping the ball tight and at the surface. I was shaking. I waited to feel the instant hookup of a very big fish.
Nothing.
I cast again. Nothing. The bait ball was shrinking and moving away. My boat was being circled by hundreds of Dorado. I cast and cast. It’s as if the fish were drugged. They didn’t even acknowledge my fly. I put that rod down and grabbed the 12 weight and popper. Again, nothing. What was left of the bait ball moved away. I watched the fish circling the boat. I could see tails sticking from their mouths and gills. A rainfall of mackerel scales was drifting down in the depths. The opiate of gorging had satiated them.
I returned to the clouser and tried all the teasing techniques I knew. Smacking the fly on the water, stripping three to four feet and then jerking it away, double hand stripping. The fish were becoming aware. The iridescent blue was returning to their fins. I cast again and a fish darted and grabbed the fly. It was a small fish; a 12 pound female but it ran line like a monster. Twenty minutes later I had the fish at the boat. I tried to shake the fly from its mouth since I had bent the hook open. No luck. I finally reached down with a gloved hand and opened the fish’s maw. Two huge mackerel had the fly pinned against the fish’s inner cheek. I freed the fish and cast again. The boat was still surrounded by hundreds of Dorado. This time there was no hesitation. Another female took the fly and was off, leaping away from the boat.
The lady came in much more easily than the first fish. I released her. Fish were still everywhere. I cast again. A third hookup. This fish was a female of about eight pounds. She came to the boat quickly. I needed meat for the table so I clubbed her and filleted her on the spot, putting the fillets quickly on ice.
When I picked up the fly rod again the fish were gone. I retraced my path on the GPS to where the frenzy had started but found nothing. The day was over. I had witnessed one of nature’s wonders, one that few will ever see. I headed in, humbled by the experience.
I did take a picture at the point when I had cast everything I knew at the fish before being hooked up for the first time. It is at the very END of the action and doesn’t reflect ANYTHING of what I saw. I’m sorry I didn’t grab the camera instead of my fly rod when I was in the middle of the melee but I’m a fisherman, not a journalist.
Reply With Quote
Bookmarks