Pope Invades Panama!

[BretABaker]

[font "Times New Roman"]Part 2 as promised![/font]
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Before dinner the second day, John told me he had some business in David the next day. “You will go out with Macho and Sergio by yourself tomorrow,” explained John. “Maybe the conditions have changed offshore.” The water inshore was bluer than the previous day and I was ready for whatever was at hand.

Macho and I ate dinner and discussed the plan for tomorrow. “Montousa is good,” he stated while he continued chewing a piece of Panamanian pan fried pargo. “It is the best.” Sergio nodded in agreement and I wasn’t arguing. After all, this was there backyard. I followed dinner with a Balboa and made my way to bed.

The next morning howler monkeys woke me from my slumber. They must have been worried about the storms brewing offshore. They could see them from the other side of Isla Boca Brava, which sits adjacent across the river from the lodge. We couldn’t see the storms, but it didn’t matter…we were going tuna fishing through hail or hell. It just didn’t matter to us. To be honest, I liked the clouds and rain. It kept the tropical sun at bay.

We loaded the boat with fresh sandwiches, fruta and drinks along with the rods as we dialed in the numbers for Montousa once more. We threw the lines and headed for chaos! As we rounded the last point marking the end of the river we could see rollers coming in from the Pacific. Storms were lining up. “Wet,” announced Macho. “No problem.”

We did pound our way to Montousa and it remind me of home, except it was much cooler in Panama. As we neared Montousa I could already see birds working. Boobies and petrels were diving bait being pushed to the surface by our bait, bonito. We threw out the bait rigs and loaded the tubes in minutes. Sergio, the master bridler, had two baits in the water within seconds of loading the tubes. Six baits in the tubes, two deployed and the sounder was solid red.



Nearly 15 minutes passed without much happening. “The tuna must be here,” I thought to myself. “Maybe not in the number during the high season, but damn there is a lot of bait.” Macho pointed out what he thought were wahoo on the sounder just seconds before a reel started to whine. “Mucho wahoo,” stated Macho. “Mucho!” He backed off the throttles and told me to be ready. The reel began to whine. “Suave!” yelled Macho. “Ahora!” I shoved the drag forward and he gunned it! The reel screamed in protest and I pulled it from the gunnel. “Wahoo!” cried Macho. “Wahoo, no aqui,” I complained. “Es atun.” It was a fat yellowfin and the first tuna of the day was brought boat side, smaller than I had wished for at 60lbs, but a tuna nevertheless.



The next two hours were magic. I hooked, fought and landed three more in this timeframe. Nicer fish as well. These coming in at around 90lbs. The last fish struck in pouring rain. Lightening flashed and thunder clapped. This was a ****ing awesome way to catch fish! The last fish slammed a bait the second lightening met our eyes and thunder garnished our ears, all at once. The reel poured line with the slack drag and Sergio was yelping with a laugh at how the scene had come together. I don’t remember how it said it, but it was with the typical latin accentuated fade. I grabbed the rod and used the rail to spell the death circle for this fish. I was the only one fishing and was becoming a little tired by now. Rain poured as the radio jammed Sandra once more. The accordion was quickly becoming my favorite instrument and with them dancing behind me we landed the fish.




I grew tired of using bait and Sergio and I started throwing poppers. It took a few minutes, but a hoo finally decided to prove to us Macho was correct. Unfortunately, the wahoo was hooked on the outside of its mouth and it managed to throw the hooks. Next, a huge rainbow runner entered the fray. This rainy day was shaping up! The last fish was a snapper that must have decided the depths weren’t going to keep him from taking part in the carnage. He slammed my popper in 200 feet of water and peeled line from the Stella before pulling the hooks. Without hookup ratios up, landings down and the skies opening on cue for the ride home, Macho gave the signal. Back to Boca Chica we went!

John had mixed feelings once we saw him at the lodge. One, he had missed a wonderful day, but had dodged the storms. He is spoiled and can fish when he wants. Stellar fishing can happen anytime and he likes the ice cream conditions he is used too. I preferred the rain and constant breeze. Nevertheless, John was waiting to get onboard the next morning with his signature glass of coffee.

We made a beeline to Montousa and immediately got bait. We slow trolled for 15 minutes before Macho, who had been anxiously watching the sounder, throttled down and asked us to pull the baits. “To the banks,” Macho grumbled. “Atun mucho.” Again, I wasn’t arguing. I was excited to fish the fabled Hannibal Bank.

As soon as we pulled up we saw the sounder light up! Fish were stacked up! Additionally, John pointed out a sea snake just off the starboard side. I am not one to believe in luck, but the snake made me feel lucky. We threw a bonita from the tube and it made a straight line into the abyss. However, this bonita started hauling ass and the grind of the clicker migrated to a scream. We threw the reel into gear without even beginning the troll and were in a solid hookup. I grabbed the rod and quickly put a 60lb fish in the boat. I was in a harness as I was prepared for a big fish. The poor fish never had a chance, but it was better to err on the side of safety with a big fish in mind.



That fish bled and in the ice, we started again. 3 minutes later and it was hookup time once more. “Already,” I thought. I grabbed the rod and shoved the drag forward beyond strike without the harness. “Oh shit, this fish isn’t stopping!” The line peeled quickly, melting into the Pacific. “Grande!” exclaimed Macho. “Si,” I replied. “Harness por favor.” This time I had connected to a big fish and it made sense. Sergio had rigged a 10-12lb bonito and it may have help weed out smaller models. 10 minutes into the fight and the fish began to circle deep and 5 minutes later in started to the surface making a run under the boat. Macho spun the boat around on a dime and the fish was back in front of me. This fish was not coming up quickly went to the bottom of the bank. I sat on the fish and started gaining line when I finally saw the double line. Then the unimaginable happened! The hook pulled!

Exhausted I sat down and watch two dorado skating across the surface with a marlin crashing them. Up again! John had already started jigging and hooked up. At first we thought it was a big snapper, but the line began to fly from the Stella. Tuna! We all started jigging and crushed them! Macho, Sergio, John and I picked off snapper of all sorts along with the tuna. It was a great afternoon and it lasted until we finally scared the hell out of the fish. We all sat down, had a late lunch and decided to go back to Montousa.











Life was everywhere, but not quite to the same extent as the previous day. It was hot, calm and the intense sun was likely keeping things down a bit. We started the routine of trolling again when Macho stood up and pointed off the bow. A spot of water boiled and tuna began erupting from the water. Within a half acre no less than 10 tuna were in the sky at once. As quickly as they were up, they were down and we started scanning the surface again. Seconds later another school of tuna tore through bait 150 yards away! Hair stood on end for us all!

While we watched, John’s bonito, connected to his OTI jigging rod, got nervous. The rod quivered and then jolted with a savage strike. John palmed the reel to gain the hookup and we were into fish again. I cleared the other rod when I got hammered, but no hookup. John’s fish was not giving up easily. These fish were pissed! It made one last run and he buttoned down the reel spelling doom for the yellow edge maniac! The fish was still very green when Sergio placed the gaff in its head and swung it over the gunnel. Blood spurted out with each pulse covering the deck.





Three bonito left and fish everywhere! I was ready for the popper once we got through with the livies. We placed two baits in the water and they went down, then came back up. I hadn’t seen the bait exhibit this behavior yet, which indicated they didn’t like what they saw below. Flashes began peeling through the spread only yards behind the boat as the baits tried to get closer for cover. Two boils were left were the baits were and both rods were on fire. However, only one stayed buttoned and I insisted John take the rod. I wanted to see him suffer after only having minutes to recover from the last fish. He was tough and had the fish nearly whipped by the time we had cleared lines and I started taking photos. He had the Stella buttoned down as before and was pulled to coaming pads. It took a few well timed pulls and Sergio denied the fish a last run with a swift gaff.

Unfortunately, one bait was mauled by the last strike, but we put it out anyway. We started the trolling pattern one last time and the dead bait spun on the surface. It didn’t take long for the live bait to get hit and I was ready to pull the rod from the holder when the dead bait disappeared in a huge boil and the other rod protested under a huge run. “Grande,” espoused Macho.

I rushed to the other rod, leveled the drag to strike and pulled when everyone shouted, “marlin!” I didn’t see the animal, but did see an enormous splash. I was only wearing a light fighting belt and insisted I was okay. 10 minutes later I had the fish within 50 yards of the boat and I guess he finally decided my scrawny ass was playing with him. The marlin grey hounded away and then made a long run away. With the reel dumping line and only yards left we backed up to gain some line. Once he stopped and started jumping 250 yards away, Macho stopped. “You catch the fish, not me.” I was 15 minutes into the fight and asked for two things, I wanted the harness and to reset the drag. Sergio went for the gaff and I threw the reel into free spool to readjust the drag. With the drag reset and the harness on, I pushed the drag to full and settled in for the fight. The rest of the battle was great. When the fish was finally close and bounding back and forth across the stern, I could finally see how magnificent the fish actually was. His bright blue tail, deep body and broad back revealed its strength as its muscles shook with every jump. The fight was almost over and Sergio grabbed leader as I threw the drag back down to a minimal setting. I lunged in for a final farewell, gave the black a “hand shake” and thumbs up. Its raspy, fixed pectoral fin graded my fingers as it pulled away after Macho severed the line. Two kicks of the tail and the marlin was gone.
















The remainder of the ride home we celebrated our last day with crisp Balboas and Sandra Sandoval!
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