|
Jesse's Hunting > Fishing Articles > Fishing Articles Archives > Kayak Fishing the East Cape
Kayak Fishing the East Cape
Phil Loughlin - JHO ProStaff
- SF Bay Area, CA
August 28, 2004
When my hunting buddy Dave Allen came back from Baja, Mexico two years ago, after his first kayak fishing trip, he couldn’t stop raving about it. The following year he asked me to join him, but I just couldn’t work it out. The raves that followed that trip hooked me though, and in May of 2004 I booked flights and a room at the East Cape resort that hosts the trips.
Back in my wilder youth, I spent some time trolling and plugging for Spanish mackerel and bluefish from the stern of an old Grumman canoe. Power boaters looked at me like I was a little nuts, running my canoe in and out of the inlet and near shore ocean waters. But, besides the fact that the canoe was my only boat at the time, it was a blast. Those days passed, though, as I grew into outboards and then into “real” fishing rigs, but I never forgot the thrill of tackling ocean fish from a light, manually powered craft, and always dreamed of the opportunity to catch something bigger.
Many years later, I saw one of the first articles about this guy in Southern California who was using a kayak to fish the kelp paddies for white seabass, yellowtails, and sharks. Shortly after that article, I spotted another about a fellow off of southern Florida catching tuna and dolphin from the deck of his kayak. I daydreamed about these trips, but life intervened and I never really gave it much thought again.
Then came Dave, and his tales of sun and fun and the occasional fish in this Mexican desert beach town. August 11 found me waiting for the plane that would take me to paradise.
And paradise it is, too. For those who have never experienced the East Cape, dispense with your dreams of lavish resorts, hopping nightclubs, and thong-clad bikini babes. Depending on your status, turisto or indigeno, this place is about one of two things… fishing or making a living. 
El Rancho
Since almost all activities in the East Cape center around the ocean, it only makes sense that the resorts are situated right on the beach. |
The turistos are here for the ocean. The warm, blue waters of the Sea of Cortez teem with marine life from dorado to tuna, marlin to roosterfish, pargo to wahoo. Your days here begin with breakfast and meeting the boat, and end with drinks and stories in the hotel bar, or on hotter nights, in the hotel pool. SCUBA divers and snorkelers ply the clear depths in bathtub-warm water amidst an array of tropical and pelagic sea life.
Of course, you can find some friends and split the $70-$100 (USD) cab fare for a run to Cabo San Lucas and the Spring Break-type crowds there. But for East Cape regulars, that’s not part of the equation.
In contrast, for nightlife one night we took a cab over rutted dirt roads to the town of La Ribera for “la Fiesta”, a county fair-like event that comprises one of the highlights of La Ribera’s civic calendar. Hawkers selling cheap wares, food and drink booths, carnival rides, and live music comprised the entire event. Football (soccer) games were the early entertainment, with the real party not getting under way until 10:00 or 11:00 at night. Traditional bands from neighboring regions were the featured entertainment. For the “sporting” crowd, cockfights were held in the adjacent lot. The only thing “American” about the entire evening was the handful of gringos from my group, wandering the grounds, soaking up the atmosphere like culture-shocked sponges.
Ordinarily, though, after a day on the water that starts at sunrise and an evening in the hotel bar, there’s not a lot of energy left for nightlife anyway. Several nights saw me in bed before 10:00. …And somehow I still managed to rack up a healthy bar tab at the end of six days.
For the locals, life is a hardscrabble effort to survive the balmy, tropical heat. But for the occasional springs and arroyos, the land is desert. Only the nearby mountains see appreciable rainfall, and precious little of that makes it down to towns with names like La Ribera, Barriles, Las Palmas, and La Paz. A lucky handful of the populace is able to work in the tourist industry, running and crewing on cruisers and pangas, providing bait, or serving in the hotels and resorts that dot the coastline. The rest… well, from my short visit I couldn’t see a lot of employment opportunities outside of roadwork (only one real paved road in the area, Mexico 1).
When I dreamed of Mexican fishing vacations, I always pictured remote villages without the helter-skelter of places like Acapulco, Cozumel, or Cancun. I imagined a place where the people haven’t adopted MTV lifestyles, and where the nights aren’t faded by bright lights and neon. East Cape delivers on that dream… in spades. You won’t find TV in the rooms, or even telephones in most cases. Cell phones might work… if you have the right carrier and international service. But for me, it was wonderful to turn the damned thing off and stow it in my luggage, then stroll outside under a pitch-black sky that was punctuated to infinity by the stars and planets.
But what about the fishing?
I’ve spent a large part of my life fishing blue-water off the East Coast, from North Carolina to the southern tip of Florida. While these trips were intoxicating in their own way, one of the common attributes they all share is the noise and smoke of marine engines, diesel and gas, and the roaring run out to the fishing grounds. Kayak fishing is different.
Paddling Into the Sunrise
Most days started with a long paddle into open water, usually heading out just as the sun breaks the eastern sky. |
You’re up at dawn, and after a filling breakfast you begin your paddle onto glass-calm seas. The sun is breaking through distant thunderheads in an orange fireball, and already it’s hot. Your pores open quickly, bathing you in a cleansing sweat as each stroke pulls you further from the sandy beach. The bait boat spots you heading out, and idles over to offer sardines or “mackerelas”, and for a few wet bucks, you fill your bait bucket for the day.
The pangas and cruisers are gearing up, and you pull further away from the noise and smell until you are in open water well outside the moorings and it’s time to drop a bait back and see what will take it. On our trip, dorado (dolphin) and tuna were running hard, and our group was able to score in both categories, although the overall numbers weren’t very impressive.
You paddle lightly, just enough to keep the bait moving until with a crash and the screaming of your drag, a big dorado takes the bait and makes his initial run. In a kayak, there is no standing up to fight the fish, no backing engines or helpful crewmembers. It’s just you and the fish… right out of Hemingway.
You set down the paddle and ease the bending rod from the holder. The fish’s efforts turn the prow of your little craft round and you begin to cut a small wake as he pulls you through the water. With a rush and a jump, he changes directions, and the kayak spins like a compass needle in the Bermuda Triangle as you try to keep fish and line separate from the boat.
Getting Air!
Peggy (Mrs. BigDog) fights a nice dorado from the deck of her kayak. Fighting a fish from a kayak can get downright tricky. |
Where do you put a 20-pound dolphin on a kayak? How do you subdue him with one hand holding the gaff and one holding the rod? Meanwhile his thrashing tail, slashing teeth, and a sharp hook are on the deck between your bare, outstretched legs and feet. It gets a little ticklish, to be sure, and the choice of where to put the toothy end is a hard one to make. With a little patience and a well-placed gaff, though, the fish soon quiets and you can restrain his weakened struggles with a leg placed over his body. 
Fruits of the battle
Peggy's dodo comes aboard, still flashing color. Now of course, the question is... where do I put this thing? |
A large, mesh bag is good to have at this point, so you can slip the fish into the bag and over the side to keep fresh. There’s no ice chest on a kayak, and you don’t want to run for shore every time you catch a fish. Of course, with a bleeding dolphin hanging off the side of your boat, you begin to be quite leery of approaching dark shapes under the indigo water. Some kayak fishermen rely on wet towels and keep the fish on the deck. Either method seems to work.
The battle ended, you drop another bait and begin to paddle again. The sun is high now, brilliant on the slightly rippled sea, and the heat is starting to increase. A loud splash catches your attention, but you can’t locate the source. Then you turn to see a shape hurtle into the air off your bow. It’s a manta ray, leaping airborne, cutting flips and acrobatic maneuvers in midair that belie his ungainly mass before crashing back down into the water. There’s some discussion about why he does it, whether feeding or removing parasites, but the consensus decision is, “because it’s fun.”
Action stays slow, with only a few short strikes as you paddle further and further from the beach. After several hours, you realize you have a three-mile paddle back for lunch. Kayaks move with relatively little effort, though, and you slow-troll your way back to the hotel.
On the second and third days, you have a panga to tow the group of kayaks out to the distant fishing grounds (on our trip the destination was a sea mount about six miles south of the hotel) where you fish your kayaks amongst the fleet of cruisers and pangas. Any fish caught are handed off to the panga/mothership, to be put on ice. Lunch is provided on these outings as well, and you can spend the entire day on your kayak if you choose.
The final days of the trip are spent without mothership support, paddling out as far as five miles in search of tuna and dorado.
The Sea of Cortez offers constant surprises and thrills. From the cavorting mantas, to passing whales, to awe-inspiring sunrises and sunsets, to the mystery of what may be at the end of your fishing line… there is very little time for anyone who loves the ocean to be bored. The kayaks don’t allow you to run from place to place chasing the fish, so success is not as sure as it is among the powerboat fleet, but the thrill of a single fish can charge an entire morning with possibility. For me at least, this trip was all about quality over quantity.
After a week, I returned from East Cape with a few fish, a little sunburn (thank heavens for SPF 50), and some memories of a time and place that will last forever.
Last Morning Paddle
On the last morning of the trip, I paddled out a picturebook sunrise, as the morning dawned through distant thunderheads and lightning danced from cloud to cloud. |
IF YOU GO
As I mentioned, there’s not a lot of commerce in the area. You should be prepared to bring all the fishing gear you will need, as well as sunscreen, medical needs, and other personal items. American currency is widely accepted, and generally preferred since it has a slightly higher value than the Mexican peso. You’ll need cash for bait, for various tips (room service, maids, bartenders, etc.), or if you want to go into town, but that’s about it. The hotels are mostly self-contained, and you can spend the entire vacation without leaving them.
The hotel staffs and most of the pangeros and boat captains speak passable English, so you can communicate if you don’t have control of Spanish. However, if you can speak the language, even a bit, you’re probably going to have a little more fun. I enjoyed sitting at the bar, chatting with the bartenders with my limited Spanish. I also found it helpful at the fiesta when purchasing drinks and goods from the stalls there. Maybe it was just good public relations on their part, but the locals seemed to appreciate when you tried to speak their language.
For more information on kayak fishing, including which gear you’ll need to bring along, check out http://www.kayakfishing.com/. Dennis Spike, the site owner, was our guide on this trip, and he made sure we all had an excellent time.
|
