Art, John and I walk over to the marina at 6:00 A.M. and Arturo is waiting with hot coffee as promised. Art is uncertain if he will go with us, but Arturo assures him that the ocean will be calm today and after paying $13.00 each for three fishing licenses we board our super panga and meet our captain, Pata. I guess him to be in his late 50’s , but his weathered skin and heavy jowls make him look much older. We motor out of the marina in the gray morning light, clear sky above and a thick cloud bank against the horizon. We have layered our clothing to keep warm and we pull our jackets tightly around us bracing against the wind. We head west towards a distant point where a dozen small boats are jigging for bait. One small panga pulls up beside ours and the fishermen scoop several net-fulls of sardines into our live bait tank. Pata hands him a folded bill in exchange. We turn back around and head East, the wind chill factor more intense. We motor for 45 minutes until we are just off shore of Punta Gorda. In the distance, I can see the house that we spent the first night in and recall, Michael, telling me that one of the best fishing spots, the Gordo Banks, was just off shore in front of the house. Pata is not a talkative man and with thick fingers, he ties and baits hooks and sets the lines for us. John watches the fish finding screen, excited to see the virtual fish swimming across the monitor. Within a few minutes I have a bite and 20 minutes later, after quite a fight, I have landed a glistening gold, yellow and blue, 15 pound Dorado. I have not planned to fish, only take photos, and when the fish first bites, I start to hand the pole to John but Art encourages me to play it out. Now as the captain congratulates me, I don’t feel proud, only sad to have caught this fish.
As the morning warms we shed our layers, get a few more nibbles, but hook nothing. I am worried that John might not catch a fish. Pata motors the panga to a different fishing spot and another two hours pass with little action. Suddenly, Art gets a bite, and seconds later, John too has a fish on his line. Both have caught 3 foot needle fish that put up a good fight. We ask Pata to release them and he aptly removes the hooks from their long serrated snouts and pushes each forcefully back down into the sea, forcing water through their gills so that they survive. Each fish swims off, a silver blue streak beneath the water. In the next 30 minutes, Art and John catch three more needle fish, all of which we release. Our fish monitor starts to indicate more action and Pata chums the water, tossing a few of the live sardines overboard. John gets another bite, that we think is a Dorado, not another needle fish. John patiently works the fish, letting out line, pulling up and back on his pole and reeling in; releasing more line, pulling up and back and reeling in. We see the fish jump and confirm that it is a Dorado. A few minutes later, Art also hooks a Dorado. Both of my men have an excited twinkle in their eyes and for the next 45 minutes, I watch and take photos of the process. John brings his fish in first and I am again awed by the beauty of this pelagic fish, glistening gold and pink with brilliant blue fins. Dorado is a fitting name for this fish, better known back home as Mahi Mahi. When the fish is along side of the boat, Pata quickly hooks it and clubs the fish to kill it quickly. This shocks me and I turn away, saddened again that we have caught this fish. Art plans to release his fish, but when he
brings it along side of the boat, Pata asks if he can have it and we concede that he m
ay.
Our fishing trip is at an end and Pata motors the boat back to the marina where our three fish are taken by wheel barrow, up to one of many covered fish cleaning stations; large square cement counters equipped with double sinks. Other boats have come in with their catches and the efficiency of the fish filleting is remarkable. I watch as a man slices diagonally just below the head and tears back the skin with one confident pull. He fillets one side of the fish, flips the fish over and repeats the process with the other side, making sure to stack all of one fish together. Another man stands beside the one wielding the fillet knife, scooping the heads and skin into a bucket, thus keeping the counter clean. The fillets from each fish are stacked in plastic bags and the counter sprayed clean with fresh water. Our three Dorado are filleted in the matter of minutes and Art tips the men for their service. We hand one bag of fish to Pata and return to our hotel giving the kitchen a large fresh fillet to cook for us this evening. The remainder we freeze in the hotels freezer intent on taking it home.
We rest for two hours, tired from the early morning, the sun and the sea. The hotels’ outdoor cafe is only open between 9:00- 5:00 so we enjoy a late afternoon meal. They prepare the fish perfectly, sauted in butter and garlic, but perhaps it would be hard to go wrong with such a fresh catch.
We need to figure out our plans for the New Year and Art suggests that we at least check into the possibility of celebrating at one of the all inclusive hotels near bye. 4 years ago, we spent a week at Hotel Intercontinental, El Presidente. At that time we were with my parents and it was a good place for three generations to be together. We walk into the familiar lobby and inquire at reception. The man behind the desk asks us where we are currently staying and Art tells him at a house in Zacatitas. We find out that the New Years’ Eve party, including dinner is $125.00 per person or that we can buy a day pass for $66.00. I ask how much it would cost to spend the night and he mentions a figure in the mid $350.00 for all of us, but suggests that it might be less than that. We thank him and leave to walk on the beach and ponder our options. Returning an hour later we wait for the same desk attendant and ask him for his best rate. He punches his computer, makes a phone call and performs his magic. He offers us the “local” rate of $258.00 all inclusive which we gladly accept. We will return in the morning. John will be able to use the pools, play volley ball and meet other kids, while Art and I relax in the elegant bubble of the hotel.
It is dark by the time we drive into old town San Jose Del Cabo to poke around the shops and get a light bite to eat. The Zocolo is festive with holiday lighting and we sit on a wrought iron bench eating ice creams and people watching.