The Watery Rave

After the success of Day Two it was an easy choice to point the bow towards Hannibal Bank on Day Three. We’ve found the fish and the location that’s going off, if we could just keep the porpoises from glomming our baits we can start to bang away at the number of tags.

As we untie from the dock and I put the boat in gear my ears start to ring. Crap, one of my outboard motor warning alarms is going off. My coffee hasn’t kicked in yet and I’ve got a mechanical issue.

When your home base is an island 25 miles off the coast of Panama, there are engine issues and there are dead in the water engine issues. Twenty-five miles doesn’t sound that far from the nearest outboard mechanic when you can zip down the highway, but in the open ocean, it’s a long way from a warm bed.

I figure out why the alarm is honking like a caffeine-jacked goose—the port engine is stuck in gear. Oh, and did I mention that it’s also in reverse? I now have the ability to put the starboard engine into forward and make big circles. Now I know how a NASCAR driver feels.

The positive side of this is that at Islas Secas we have a 135 foot LCU, our mother ship that supports our fishing program. To minimize the impact on the island where the guests stay, our fishing program is supported 100% by the LCU.

So I hail them on the VHF and tell them I have an issue. They reply, “Like the whole world doesn’t know you have issues.” Even in Panama, 25 miles offshore, there’s a comedian in the group.

I shut down the gagging engine and limp over on the one working outboard. I am freaking out. We’ve found fish and I can’t get to them. After 15 minutes, my engineer Luigi says “No Problama Chief. I fix in 45 minutes.”

Having the support of the LCU means a full time engineer and all the spare parts and tools for every Job. I love working for an organization like this.

It took a little longer than 45 minutes. Obviously island time converts to Italy as well, but we are now on our way.

At the Bank we made bait in seven minutes and were fishing in ten. The porpoises were relentless. They ate every bait we put behind the boat. They have a Master’s Degree in bait theivry and  would come in as wolf packs. We did not stand a chance.

The frustration with these bait poachers was growing, and to make matters worse, we saw a big black marlin tearing up the water as it fed on a school of bait. We dropped right on him and the porpoises ate both baits in less than two minutes.

By 1:00 p.m., we have gone through 20 baits. This sucks and is not working. We start pulling plastic, not a preferred method for targeting black marlin in Panama waters, but they will work at times. Obviously today was not one of those times.

We do catch a few dolphin and make plans for the next day. The porpoise are starting to stress me out.

Day One of this trip was a total bust.  I guess I should have expected it, flying straight in from Jackson Hole, Wyoming and hopping on my boat the next day with no prefishing time or even a chance to drink a beer with the other local captains and squeeze them for the current intel. Given last year’s incredible fishing the same weeks and my knowledge of the fisheries, I felt confident that we’d have no problem getting a fish or two that first day. That goes to show you that confidence is only as good as your last time on the water.

On another note, I must have a hole in my head because I headed straight back to Montuosa on the ass of a stale first day. I have two scientists on board and they’re both looking at me like I just kicked their lab rats, but I have a feeling that the belle of the dance is there, and in this game, it’s best to trust your intuition.

The weather is beautiful and we blast out there like Ricky Bobby with a full tank of nitrous. If there’s one thing I learned from the previous day, it’s where the bait was holding. In a matter of minutes the tuna tubes were full and we were ready to send a bait down.

The hours roll by. One hour…two hours…three hours…It’s a desert.  A disco song comes over the radio. It’s a song by Lipps Inc., a good sign. We’re gonna rip some lips.

Gotta Make a move to a town that’s right for me, Town to keep me movin’ keep me groovin’ with some energy…

Not a fish in the spread, and it was looking much like the same as the previous day, but I have confidence in this spot. I have caught loads of fish here in the past, but right now I can’t catch my butt with both hands. I need to change something. We have to make a move.

Well, I talk about it, talk about it, talk about it, talk about it. Talk about, talk about, talk about movin’.

Eleven miles away is Hannibal Bank, although it could be less than happening there as well. I’m an idiot if I don’t make the 20 minute run, if for no other reason than to rule out the option. I don’t want to get back to the dock and hear it was going off on Hannibal while I was a desert explorer in Montuosa.

Gotta move on. Gotta move on. Gotta move on!

On the run over I’m in the tower just dwelling about all the planning that has gone into this project and the people and organizations involved: Islas Secas, NOAA, The Billfish Foundation, Adopt a Billfish, the production company from JMOutdoors, and the list goes on. What if we don’t catch them? I’m grinding my teeth into paste.

As I go ripping by a turtle, I see two streaks of green. I spin the boat around and as I’m coming off plane Juan, my mate, has a popping rod in his hand and with one cast hooks up to a 40-pound bull dorado that we invite to dinner. With dolphin in the box, we know we’re having fresh fish, even if the marlintini’s are going dry.

That little break in the monotony was good. Although dorado are not the target species, a little action does a splendid job of shaking the cobwebs out of our heads. Now if we can just follow that up with some frantic billfish ballistics.

A few minutes later we are on the high spots at Hannibal Bank. Juan drops the first bait in the water. As he is rigging a second bait, the porpoises arrive. The porpoises of Hannibal Bank have one mission in life: to ensure a percentage of the black marlin population goes unmolested. They serve their purpose by eating every bait we put in the water some days.

I have been to doctors in Panama to see if I have a porpoise magnet somewhere in me, but they just laugh and say it’s more likely the fish have locked in to the sound of my engines. I’m actively looking for an engine noise modificator.

Juan quickly reels in the bait to keep the porpoise off it and has it out short, just behind the motors and wallowing in the prop wash when all at once there is a large dark shape tracking it. Funkytown has arrived, with authority. There’s a massive boil behind the boat and the bait takes a permanent leave of absence. I’m hoping the porpoise are pissed. It’s their turn for once.

Disco is not dead in the open Panamanian Pacific, as 400-plus pounds of sinew and fin dance the water to froth. Juan feeds the fish, the circle hook is set and the rodeo is on. In the first eight minutes the 400 pound fish jumps over 20 times.

After she settles down we are into a tug-of-war for another 40 minutes.

I talk about it, talk about it, talk about it, talk about it.

She is close. She’s also pissed.

Juan grabs the leader and skillfully wires her into range. A lot of crap can go wrong right now, not to mention the fish can just as easily opt to come on board. I’m ready to react to a leap for the cockpit as Doc Prince and John Hoolihan sting the fish. The Satellite tag is in, it’s well placed, and the black marlin looks healthy as it swims off.

I dance on the tower as Juan rigs another bait. At least we’re not going 0-for Pamana.

Well that’s the last time I fly in with guests at the beginning of the season and fish them the very next day. There’s a lot of money and effort invested in this black marlin tagging expedition and I should know better than to build expectations without a single day of prefishing, although given last December’s fishing I felt pretty confident we’d sting a handful of fish every day.

I normally come in a week or two before the season and do some fishing with the boat crews to get everything dialed in and everyone working their “A” game, but I saw a piece of weed stuck to a bait for 10 full seconds before it got changed out, so the mate is about two seconds off his game. I knew I could depend on my fishing crew to have boats and tackle ready, but it was a bit foolish of me to think I could nail down the fishing patterns without a few days on the water.

Islas Secas is a 16 island private resort 25 miles off the coast of Panama, and when you face west, there’s roughly 9,000 miles (give or take a mile) of watery frontier, so to think I can set out on a tank of gas and a cooler of beer and find a black marlin to tag is just a bit presumptuous. It often takes two tanks of gas and a cooler and a half of beer to ride the tides from zero to hero around here. Today, I am Senor Cero…0 for December.

I have this fishery pretty well figured out, and the two main areas I like to blanket (Islas Montuosa and the Hannibal Bank) are only eleven miles or so apart, so it’s a fifty/fifty proposition and you get a good idea right away if you made the right call. The only problem is that it’s tough to fish both locations in one day unless you’re willing to call a spot dead early and risk hearing someone on the radio ride the bites into the hot boat of the day while fishing right where you were earlier as you spend the afternoon trolling your way to humility. So once you make the call, you’re usually committed.

Going into today’s fishing, I chose Islas Montuosa as the starting point based on the science of historical black marlin catch statistics, current weather patterns, satellite water surface temperature charts and a game of rock/paper/scissors. I was wrong.

The second I got there I knew it, but I hoped to scratch a fish out, vying for that “dying quail” pop-up that falls between the infield and the outfield, and instead I fouled out to the catcher. The water was dirty, baitfish were scarce as salted butter at a fat farm, and the only bird we saw all day was the one the mate flipped at a passing boat that ran over our lines. In essence, we were fishing in the desert. What a crap way to start the Islas Secas and Billfish Foundation Tagging Expedition 2011.

The casitas on Islas Secas run on solar power, so if we had one thing going for us it was knowing that a hot shower and cold beer were awaiting or arrival home. Despite the fact that many Panamanians still do not have air conditioning, there is something to be said about propping your feet up after a long day on the water and feeling the ceiling fan blow a blast of artificial refrigeration over your toes. It feels like…home.

With Day One behind us, it’s time to blow the top off a frosty one, think about what we saw and put together a game plan that will let us put some technologically superior jewelry into a fish or ten.

Two days ago I was up to my ass in soft pack snow thinking about making a run to the store on the snowmobile for basic sustenance (Slim Jims, barbeque chips and beer). That’s indicative of winter in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, where the guys who run the snow plows make more in six months than a small Florida dermatologists office makes in a whole year. And now the sweat is dripping down my neck as I look out over the open Pacific

It’s a full day of travel from the defrosted airport in Jackson Hole to island resort of Isla Secas, 25 miles off the coast of Panama, two days if you want to sleep in and catch the noon flight out, which appeals to my sense of rising with the sun.  Best case scenario, you’ll spend 10 hours chasing flight connections and layovers through Denver and Houston before skidding in to Panama City’s Tocumen International Airport, but it’s worth every crying baby and the guy in the seat next to you constantly shifting from fever to chills. From Panama City, it’s an hour flight and a 45 minute boat ride to a complete de-stressing.

On the way there, the names of legendary fishing locations like Hannibal Bank and Isla Montuosa creep through your thoughts, along with images of big blacks leaving town. It’s the hottest ride on the billfishing stoke meter, a ticket that’s been punched by some of the greatest big game fishermen around the globe, and after a hearty filet mignon doble (twin fillets wrapped in bacon) black beans and rice and a couple of Balboa’s, it’s time to catch my ride for my third season in these legendary waters.

Black marlin are a declining species, even in these remote waters, which is why I’ve come armed with 15 satellite tags and the some of the best scientists, anglers and media diva’s in the business. As part of the Islas Secas, adopt a Billfish and The Billfish Foundation Satellite tagging expedition 2011 it’s my job to stick these modified children monitors into some of the fastest, hard-charging fish in the Pacific, and to do it without harm to the fish or crew.

I come armed with knowledge and a pocketful of optimism, after a December 2010 season in the same waters that saw more multiple fish release days than not and a 450 pound average to those fish. It’s prime time to get a stud black on the line, and over the next 10 days we hope to burn through all 15 tags, something no other black marlin tagging expedition has managed to pull off in the same amount of time.

So the pressure is on, just like the caffeine zing from the Panamanian coffee I just pounded, and with a full tank of gas and a light breeze, we’re heading west in another 30 minutes. Wish us luck, or at least a safe return.

Islas Secas, Panama–

THE ADVENTURE: Not so long ago, a visit to Islas Secas would result in your beheading and the top of your cocoanut transformed into a drinking glass for Seco, the 80 proof sugar cane martini preferred by the local Indian tribes. This collection of sixteen islands off the Southwestern coast of Panama were once part of the mainland, but that was before the polar ice caps melted, sea levels rose and the coastal terra became a lot less firma. Today, Islas Secas are a jungle/lagoon/reef collection of islands 25 miles off the coast.

Spaniard explorers were among the first transients to visit Islas Secas, eventually helping establish the commercial enterprises that morphed the Indians from fierce warriors to lagoon snorkel dorkels as they hunted oysters using nothing but a pair of shorts and a deep breath of salt spray. Actually it was the pearls, some of the most striking jewels found in Pacific waters that drove the locals into commercial diving, and that natural bounty didn’t come without a price.

Five major currents flow through the Islas Secas Archipelago, and when you have deep, moving water nearby, it’s only a matter of time before the animals that hunt the open ocean decide to shallow up for hors ‘d oeuvres. Bull, tiger and hammerhead sharks are regular visitors to Islas Secas, and if they don’t get your attention, I’m sure the orcas will. Then there are the extreme tidal ranges, huge fluctuations in water levels that can snatch a diver from wading pool to open ocean where the next stop ranges anywhere from a shorebreak in Costa Rica to an open reef in Kiribati (Polynesia).

A vast ecosystem of shallow and deep water coral reefs, atolls and islands bordering open ocean create sanctuaries for a variety of baitfish, gamefish and the largest apex predators in the Pacific Ocean. Those ecosystems that attract maneaters also help make Islas Secas one of the best fishing destinations in the world, with exceptional angling opportunities for yellowfin tuna, dorado, snapper and grouper, along with several billfish species. While the Pacific sailfish has the reputation of being a willing participant in the field testing of fly and trolling tackle, it’s the blue and black marlin populations that make the Isla Secas fungo face all star team.

With the average black marlin around 450 pounds, and fish over 700 pounds fairly common, it’s just a matter of time before someone utters the phrase, “We need a bigger boat.”

THE PLAYERS:

Carter Andrews: Director of Fishing for Islas Secas, Andrews brings a wealth of big game fishing experience to Panama, where black marlin bat 20 pound yellowfin around like a birthday boy flailing at an Elvis piñata.

Dr. Eric Prince: Known as the expert of all things marliny and mega, Prince is here to sting the king of Panama billfish with a new set of detachable jewelry.

John Hoolihan: Prince’s right hand man, and the person who gets all the crappy jobs, including reeling in the pigs when everyone else’s arms cramp up.

John Brownlee: Editor of Saltwater Sportsman Magazine, Brownlee is on board to help document the event and to make sure the boats that ferry adult beverages to the region stay on schedule.

Carey Chen: Well-known marine artist and sushi connoisseur, Chen is on board to build the mental bank of images he uses to paint from, and to see how the yellowfin tuna from the nearby Hannibal Bank go with a side of fava beans and a nice chianti.

Bear Holeman: Fly and offshore fisherman, video production queen and all around cookie monster, Holeman is around to lighten the mood until all hell breaks loose, when he’ll be expected to take charge and name prisoners.

The Billfish Foundation: Through the Adopt A Billfish program, anglers interested in billfish conservation and movements can  pony up the $4,000 tax deductible contribution for each Satellite Archival Tag that pops up and transmits information on its movements. Add an extra zero to your donation, and you can come along, catch, tag and nickname your fish.

THE STORY: Imagine a Volkswagen that could swim and jump. Now turbo charge its engine and put a fungo bat on the hood and you have an idea what you’ll encounter over ten days of chasing black marlin from Islas Secas Resort. Add in the sketchimo factor of planting 15 Satellite Archival Tags in your totally pissed Farfegnugen, and you have an idea of the task at hand. No expedition has ever planted 15 tags, and Andrews and his team want to be the first to notch the bar.

The days start with a java run and end with the last beer in the cooler as the boat trolls live tethered tunas over Hannibal Bank and Isla Montuosa for the man in black. Find the schools of small tuna, catch a couple of 20 pound fish, transport them via tuna tube condos to the fishing grounds and then live tether them out the back, and you too can fight off the sharks, porpoise and anything else that wants to steal your bait as you wait for the man in black to show out back.

From there, it’s a game of swat and stab until the hook gets set and the Volkswagen falls out of the sky. Be there, or be square when the man in black dumps the 130 pound line off the reel like a tow truck casting to moving semi’s along the highway. The Islas Secas black marlin satellite tagging expedition is set to fish, and like all fishing trips it’s the unexpected that often becomes the most memorable.