Thought you guys might appreciate some warm weather reading while old man winter haunts the waters up here! Hope you enjoy!
WHERE THE WILD THINGS ROAM - A JOURNEY TO CLARION ISLAND
I stood on the back deck of the boat this morning, watching the wake bubble and churn as the Gladiator reliably chugged herself at ten knots towards Cabo. Low, grey clouds filled the sky, drifting towards an undetermined point somewhere beyond the horizon. Slight, variable winds kept the sea rippled and playful.
A gentle rolling ground swell gave patient chase from the south, pushing the boat as the seas rolled under her starboard stern, giving us a gentle yawing motion as we steamed northward. A subtle symphony of pleasant weather and a benevolent sea, an orchestra tuning up a long, long way from land in any direction.
I’d become well used to the relaxed rhythms of the Gladiator by now, having spent the last six and a half days aboard her. Given time, a man comes to know each particular ship, their various nuances, moods, and behaviors. I couldn’t help but smile as I thought of my own relationship with this boat, the many days and nights of quite rare adventure that we’d already shared together. With two great journeys to the Revillegigedo Islands already logged, I’d certainly consider that the Gladiator and I are off to a favorable start.
I contemplated the first tentative steps of our relationship together as I watched her wake dissipate astern, the deep humming of her engines mingling with the chatter of waves and wash. The music of madness is not always a booming chaos of crescendo and clatter. Sometimes the simple hum of an engine and the delicate whoosh of the wake is enough to get the blood boiling. But it’s not always this subtle and pretty. Only yesterday those same engines roared, the Gladiators rhythms more frantic and hasty. Yes, it’s a vast and different tempo sometimes. But for now, things are quiet, peaceful, and steady.
The entire boat is in a somewhat sedated mood lately. Considerably spent after four days of what proved to be incredible fishing. An emotional desert where the adrenaline has worn off, our voices are hoarse from the screaming, and we are sometimes found to be staring off into space, at things like the wake, wondering how the hell this trip could have possibly turned out any better.
Grown men are sometimes reduced to contemplative moments of introspection in situations like this. Each and every member of the crew taking the time to process the events from the past four days, and secretly wondering to ourselves if, in fact, it all really happened.
But the answer is yes, without question. One look around the deck assures us that the beaten tackle, the disheveled gear, the anarchy of previous meticulous order is the result of only one thing – four days of non-stop incredible fishing.
It was only six and a half days ago that we boarded the immaculately clean and polished Gladiator. Carefully set up and perfected our tackle, diligently stored our provisions and gear. Spent the day and a half ride down to Clarion Island going over all of our efforts, planning our strategy, and preparing for the assault.
After nearly forty hours of drilling and planning, when that first fifty wide started screaming and the first of countless tunas and wahoo started feeding, it only took three minutes of unspeakable madness to turn the best laid plans of our crew inside out. Drags exploded in every direction as wahoo and tuna of all shapes and sizes pounced on baits and jigs with abandon. So much for our careful and calculated planning, because when the **** hits the fan there’s just no way to prepare yourself for madness like this.
Dan and Dave Bedell joined us once again. For those of you that remember they’ve fished with me for nearly ten years, most recently on our first visit to Socorro and San Benedicto on the Salty. They’ve both caught innumerable giants on my deck over the years, besting several three hundred pound tunas, and countless other remarkable catches in between. They travel with a veritable arsenal of equipment, the best of the best and quite literally everything from bait rigs to heavy tackle that you’d need for an expedition like this. No less than twelve complete rod and reel combos and another half dozen duffle bags worth of tackle. Throw in a surfboard or two, some high-tec camera gear, an assortment of i-pods and hard drives, and let’s not forget the somewhat daunting wine selection. These brothers are quintessential adventurers, modern day fanatics, world travelers, and certainly one of the most dedicated teams that this sport has ever seen.
Barnes Cooper of Hard Core sport fishing fame also joined the team. No slouch in either dedication or preparation either, Barnes was in charge of bringing the HD video gear, from which we would document every minute detail of the trip from beginning to rear. He’s a great sportsman whom I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know from our mutual exploits in Puerto Vallarta over the years. Fishing from his twenty-six foot Parker the “Hard Core”, Barnes has jumped into the PV community with relentless abandon, and has become a staple in the local offshore scene. After reading about our last trip aboard the Gladiator to the Revilligegidos, Barnes decided that this trip was just too good to miss. He signed up and in hindsight I don’t think anyone on this trip would complain that he did.
Fred Rohrs, a thirty year resident of the Hollister Ranch and world traveling surfer and fisherman joined us with his son Sandy, a nineteen year old neophyte angler who could claim a two and a half pound farm caught rainbow trout his only angling accomplishment before this trip. Fred and Sandy both have the kind of personality that’s nearly impossible to resist. Relaxed, happy, and grateful to just be a part of the adventure, the father and son duo added a fundamental dimension to any voyage of this nature. For Sandy, claiming that your first trip offshore was going to be to Clarion Island would leave several hardened offshore veterans cringing at best.
Brian Rapf was the last minute lucky sonofabitch. I’ve known Brian for several years, he and his dad have a forty-eight Uniflight “Rapfsody” that they run out of Cabo. He’s no virgin to offshore fishing, having quite literally grown up on the deck of his family’s boat. Because of a last minute cancellation Brian was able to jump on the trip the day before we were scheduled to depart, a fortuitous turn of events that led Brian to toast the guy that backed out at every occasion. We actually took off at the start of the trip and forgot Brian on the fuel dock momentarily; the look of panic in his eyes when we backed up once again to the dock to pick him up was absolutely hilarious. Sorry buddy!
The remainder of the crew was the same, Ben and I as charter masters, Arturo and Lionel in the cockpit, “Magic” Manuel in the kitchen, and Danny Alvarez as captain. You could not possibly hope for a better dynamic than this.
WHERE THE WILD THINGS ROAM - A JOURNEY TO CLARION ISLAND
I stood on the back deck of the boat this morning, watching the wake bubble and churn as the Gladiator reliably chugged herself at ten knots towards Cabo. Low, grey clouds filled the sky, drifting towards an undetermined point somewhere beyond the horizon. Slight, variable winds kept the sea rippled and playful.
A gentle rolling ground swell gave patient chase from the south, pushing the boat as the seas rolled under her starboard stern, giving us a gentle yawing motion as we steamed northward. A subtle symphony of pleasant weather and a benevolent sea, an orchestra tuning up a long, long way from land in any direction.
I’d become well used to the relaxed rhythms of the Gladiator by now, having spent the last six and a half days aboard her. Given time, a man comes to know each particular ship, their various nuances, moods, and behaviors. I couldn’t help but smile as I thought of my own relationship with this boat, the many days and nights of quite rare adventure that we’d already shared together. With two great journeys to the Revillegigedo Islands already logged, I’d certainly consider that the Gladiator and I are off to a favorable start.
I contemplated the first tentative steps of our relationship together as I watched her wake dissipate astern, the deep humming of her engines mingling with the chatter of waves and wash. The music of madness is not always a booming chaos of crescendo and clatter. Sometimes the simple hum of an engine and the delicate whoosh of the wake is enough to get the blood boiling. But it’s not always this subtle and pretty. Only yesterday those same engines roared, the Gladiators rhythms more frantic and hasty. Yes, it’s a vast and different tempo sometimes. But for now, things are quiet, peaceful, and steady.
The entire boat is in a somewhat sedated mood lately. Considerably spent after four days of what proved to be incredible fishing. An emotional desert where the adrenaline has worn off, our voices are hoarse from the screaming, and we are sometimes found to be staring off into space, at things like the wake, wondering how the hell this trip could have possibly turned out any better.
Grown men are sometimes reduced to contemplative moments of introspection in situations like this. Each and every member of the crew taking the time to process the events from the past four days, and secretly wondering to ourselves if, in fact, it all really happened.
But the answer is yes, without question. One look around the deck assures us that the beaten tackle, the disheveled gear, the anarchy of previous meticulous order is the result of only one thing – four days of non-stop incredible fishing.
It was only six and a half days ago that we boarded the immaculately clean and polished Gladiator. Carefully set up and perfected our tackle, diligently stored our provisions and gear. Spent the day and a half ride down to Clarion Island going over all of our efforts, planning our strategy, and preparing for the assault.
After nearly forty hours of drilling and planning, when that first fifty wide started screaming and the first of countless tunas and wahoo started feeding, it only took three minutes of unspeakable madness to turn the best laid plans of our crew inside out. Drags exploded in every direction as wahoo and tuna of all shapes and sizes pounced on baits and jigs with abandon. So much for our careful and calculated planning, because when the **** hits the fan there’s just no way to prepare yourself for madness like this.
Dan and Dave Bedell joined us once again. For those of you that remember they’ve fished with me for nearly ten years, most recently on our first visit to Socorro and San Benedicto on the Salty. They’ve both caught innumerable giants on my deck over the years, besting several three hundred pound tunas, and countless other remarkable catches in between. They travel with a veritable arsenal of equipment, the best of the best and quite literally everything from bait rigs to heavy tackle that you’d need for an expedition like this. No less than twelve complete rod and reel combos and another half dozen duffle bags worth of tackle. Throw in a surfboard or two, some high-tec camera gear, an assortment of i-pods and hard drives, and let’s not forget the somewhat daunting wine selection. These brothers are quintessential adventurers, modern day fanatics, world travelers, and certainly one of the most dedicated teams that this sport has ever seen.
Barnes Cooper of Hard Core sport fishing fame also joined the team. No slouch in either dedication or preparation either, Barnes was in charge of bringing the HD video gear, from which we would document every minute detail of the trip from beginning to rear. He’s a great sportsman whom I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know from our mutual exploits in Puerto Vallarta over the years. Fishing from his twenty-six foot Parker the “Hard Core”, Barnes has jumped into the PV community with relentless abandon, and has become a staple in the local offshore scene. After reading about our last trip aboard the Gladiator to the Revilligegidos, Barnes decided that this trip was just too good to miss. He signed up and in hindsight I don’t think anyone on this trip would complain that he did.
Fred Rohrs, a thirty year resident of the Hollister Ranch and world traveling surfer and fisherman joined us with his son Sandy, a nineteen year old neophyte angler who could claim a two and a half pound farm caught rainbow trout his only angling accomplishment before this trip. Fred and Sandy both have the kind of personality that’s nearly impossible to resist. Relaxed, happy, and grateful to just be a part of the adventure, the father and son duo added a fundamental dimension to any voyage of this nature. For Sandy, claiming that your first trip offshore was going to be to Clarion Island would leave several hardened offshore veterans cringing at best.
Brian Rapf was the last minute lucky sonofabitch. I’ve known Brian for several years, he and his dad have a forty-eight Uniflight “Rapfsody” that they run out of Cabo. He’s no virgin to offshore fishing, having quite literally grown up on the deck of his family’s boat. Because of a last minute cancellation Brian was able to jump on the trip the day before we were scheduled to depart, a fortuitous turn of events that led Brian to toast the guy that backed out at every occasion. We actually took off at the start of the trip and forgot Brian on the fuel dock momentarily; the look of panic in his eyes when we backed up once again to the dock to pick him up was absolutely hilarious. Sorry buddy!
The remainder of the crew was the same, Ben and I as charter masters, Arturo and Lionel in the cockpit, “Magic” Manuel in the kitchen, and Danny Alvarez as captain. You could not possibly hope for a better dynamic than this.