Second day...on a fishing boat called a panga skippered by an effusive, arm-waving Italian industrialist who now lives in Los Barriles. Note to self: never get on a small boat with a guy who takes his sport fishing too seriously. Andrew and I caught two 12-15 pound tunas within the first hour of fishing. Then several bites but no real action for a couple of hours. And suddenly I'm locked in this 30 minute death struggle with a type of dolphin known locally as a dorado for its preternatural golden sheen. truth be told it also has strong dashes of red, turquoise green and ice blue. but doradorojoaquaazulado, mercifully, was deemed far to difficult for gringos to pronounce. The fish was so damned strong he nearly tipped me over a couple of times, and actually dragged me from one side of the boat to the other as he struggled to break the line and I simply to hold on and not fall in the Sea of Cortez. We werent using a harness, so the butt of the fishing rod was jammed into that tender flesh north of pubic and south of abs. If you dare, gaze on the picture above, but be warned...the sight of my bruised self is not for the faint of heart. But the fish sure is pretty, aint it? I thought so too and it was a total gift being so close to something so beautiful and powerful. Even as the noble beast was chewing through the fishing line. Ah, but not our obsessive Captain Guido Ahab...nope not him. Ive never seen a grown man so pouty and disappointed in broad daylight. I think he was mad at me, but he was also shaking his fist at the open sea, swearing some sort of unholy vengeance straigh out of a novel. Strange to be sure, but it didnt impact my sense of elation not in the least Im happy to report...
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