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The Blood Bath - August 2009

Page history last edited by Todd 14 years, 5 months ago

THE BLOOD BATH - A Mexican surf fishing story

I believe that our memories do not consist of continuous stories. Instead, our memories are like photographs. The snapshots that are burned into our brains are of only brief moments. Our brains choose the most remarkable and unique moments to archive into memories. SNAP!





We have driven our ATVs through the darkness and arrived at our desired fishing location in the breaking dawn. SOL's SurfnHorns (Colin) has immediately hooked up on a nice roosterfish. I am fumbling with my video camera because I have neglected using it for earlier events. The rest of the group surrounds Colin during the fight. I finally get the video camera turned on and I'm dimly aware that everyone else is hopping around in the sand like Mexican jumping beans. The most coherent words are "Dude", "Dude", DUDE"!! Colin is pulling his rooster out of the wash and his "DUDE" is the loudest. It takes me a moment to make sense out of the confusion. Colin produces only half a roosterfish from the surf. A large shark has swirled in the wash at his feet and sheared off his breakfast. Red liquid stains the water. THE BLOOD BATH HAS BEGUN.







I'm fishing several hundred yards down the beach from the rest of the group. Earlier, a stampede of huge crevalle had attacked us. The locals call 'em toros (bulls) and they will break your arms like jilted bookies. The guys I fish with call 'em broad shouldered bully gorillas. With quadruple hookups, it had been nothing less than a royal rumble in the jungle.







After a couple hours of this, both the human beings and the water beings were worn out. Things had slowed a bit so I had reconnoitered down the beach. I'm catching random fish but haven't found a concentration to sic the group on yet. Vaguely, I'm aware that my wife is chasing me down. She is waving and yelling something but I can only hear the surf. As I look past her, I see that SOL'S MTAMIM (Mark) is posing with a very nice rooster.




But, something else is going on. I start jogging towards the scene and as I pass Ruth she breathlessly gasps that SOL's JIMPEREZ (Jim) has been hooked. Crap. I see that Mark is releasing his big rooster and I increase my pace. I finally connect with the group and Jim has a broad grin on his face. Mark is ghost white and a little nauseous looking. Has Mark and not Jim been hooked? Nope. Jim has two hooks of a 4X 3/0 VMC treble through the meat of his brawny forearm.




Mark feels a bit responsible and his fortitude is low in the face of blood and ghoul. I draw out my double acting hook cutters and snip off the barb end of the hooks. Jim withdraws the hooks with a disdainful sneer worthy of Stallone. The man is tough.




Roosterfish throw their heads with the power of a Jaguar and spring off the beach with the speed of a rattlesnake. A double set of treble hooks (belly and tail) on your plug is a dangerous weapon when given to a roosterfish. Mark is chagrined that he hadn't removed the belly hooks resulting in the piercing of his compadre. Thank goodness Colin had been at hand to separate the plug in Jim's arm from the flopping 40 pound rooster by cutting through the fish's mouth with a pair of shears. THE BLOOD BATH CONTINUES.


There is a place we call Dragon's Tail. It's on the edge of the earth and the water plunges deeply off the very steep high beach. I can't imagine this place in a hurricane. Even in moderate swell conditions, the ponderous Pacific swells thrust their massive bulks up the incline and then pour back down the slope in a collective torrent. For the life of me... it all sounds like the roaring, moaning, and screaming of a black dragon. Trolls, goblins, and boogey men guard this place. Fortunately, I know who holds the keys to this place. Alfredo and his son Salvador are the masters of this land and hold they hold the keys. SOL'S MFISHTER (Mark F.) agrees to ride shotgun with me as I go in search of them. They live far up a spooky crease in the adjacent mountain side. As we near their hidden shack, I start yelling "Oye, Alfredo. Oye Salvador"! An announced presence is far preferable to a surprise. Salvador's "whoop" echoes down the mountain and soon we are confronted by two black snarling dogs. As always, the fist sized rock in my hand deters them. The shack is surrounded by goats, burros, and fowl. The lawn is confluent animal excrement. Salvador comes around the corner of the house and shakes my hand like it is a teat. He asks us if we would like some warm fresh squeezed goat’s milk but we graciously decline. Alfredo approaches us slick with dripping sweat. We chat a bit and he grants me the keys. The morning on Dragon's Tail is glorious and humbling. As we drive the small trail out of the dragon's lair, we encounter a steep and deeply gullied section. I successfully negotiate the section and wait around the corner for the rest of the group. An unseen ATV motor abruptly shuts off and Colin yells "Ohhhh Dude". Immediately I think they have broken their rods on an overhanging thorn tree. As I dash around the corner I see that this is not the case. Instead, Mark F. has a dragon's claw impaled in his finger. It is deeply pierced and the point is well buried. MTamim is once again weak in the knees. It's time for the witch doctor. He materializes with a syringe full of magic numbing potion and a scalpel. Deftly, the claw is withdrawn while Colin snickers in the background.





Mark F. takes a seat in the shade and promptly pierces his buttocks with a long thorn. THE BLOOD BATH CONTINUES.


The alarm jolts me awake. I've been kind of hoping for a rain/lightning morning so I could have a rest/recovery day. But, the stars shine brightly through the window so it's time to suck it up. My pants have been drying on the back of a tall stool. As always, prudence is best so I give the pants two shakes. Only as an after thought, I shake them a third time. A three inch translucent yellow scorpion tumbles out of them.

Joining me for roosterfish in surf of rural Mexico is for those with grit. It is for those who know how to prepare. It is a real adventure and an authentic experience. For those with the right stuff, I'll show you amazing things and endless roosterfish. I believe this group caught in excess of 100 roosterfish in one week. They locked horns with dozens of bully crevalle. A plethora of other species also graced the beaches. Dudes. You are awesome in every way! If the reader someday comes upon someone whose surf rod peals thunder and a far away look gleams in his eye......it might be a member of the The Blood Bath. - The End


Some random photos from the trip:










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