Chatter EDITOR’S ANGLE
CONFIDENCE BAIT W
e’re in paradise. The view from the old masonry bar at Rancho Leonero Re-
sort drinks in a broad expanse of calm, azure Cortez Ocean, the color so profoundly pure it makes the heart ache. The walls of the old Baja fishing lodge, witness to legendary Hollywood visitors the likes of the Duke and Bing Crosby, tell the story of a rich big game fishing history. Countless photos celebrate catches of oce-
anic bruisers: spiky marlin, muscular tuna, iridescent bull dorado and proud roosterfish, their combs standing defiantly tall. There are kayakers in the photos too, including Bobby “Anacapa” Kirk with an absurdly large baqueta grouper. Since 1996, genial proprietor John Ireland has welcomed those who paddle for their fish to join the traditional, boat-based customers at his beachside oasis. This paradise is a temporary fisherman’s
hell. The water steams, an unseasonable and unusual ninety degrees. A fleetful of boaters returns beaten, eyes glazed with one thou- sand-yard stares from ceaseless seeking. It’s the heart of dorado and tuna season. There
THE DORADO WHISPERER
READIES FOR THE QUEST. PHOTO: PAUL LEBOWITZ
aren’t any within 50 miles. Smaller roosterfish are the only game in town, conveniently right off the beach but for only as long as the scarce live bait holds up in the superheated water. Anacapa is undaunted. From the barstool
next to me, he speaks up. “I guarantee we can catch dorado. It never fails. Wait until the sun starts to sink low. We’ll hop on the kayaks and paddle into the zone. You’ll see,” he says. Skeptics look on, far from sold. If the lodge’s
salty captains can’t find the fish from the wheels of cruisers equipped with throaty motors, why should Anacapa be any different? “Prove it,” I challenge. Hours later we meet on the beach, just the
two of us willing to give it a try. Anacapa brief- ly kneels at the sea’s edge, then shouts, “All we need is one bait. That’ll do it.” We search fruitlessly, probing with irons
and steely spoons. Momentarily Bob’s confi- dence seems to crumble, then his face lights up. “I forgot to spit on my Krocodile!” Plunk! Not a heartbeat later, Anacapa hooks up. He reels in a snaggle-toothed three-foot
needlefish, seen by most visiting anglers as a pesky, vicious nuisance. This one is abundant- ly welcome. Soon we’re trolling the most hum- ble of baits, strips of meaty blue-green skin. He knows the boats that hunted far and
wide blanked. Secure in his conviction, he doesn’t care. “We’re in the dorado zone. Our kayaks are quiet. It’s perfect. In the low light they’ll come to eat,” he intones. I’m not so sure. Cannibalistic needles sav-
age my bait. I hook a big one that skies over my bow, angrily snapping its jaws as it flashes by. We’re running out of time. Anacapa never wavers. “It’ll happen.” And then it does. My clicker screams, the
rod loads up, a flash of liquid green catches the fading light. I never should have doubted. Anacapa knows. A kayak is the ultimate con- fidence bait.
Paul Lebowitz is the editor of Kayak Angler. He’s con- fident he’ll hook his heart’s desire, a 10-pound calico bass. He just doesn’t know when.
www.kayakanglermag.com… 7
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52 |
Page 53 |
Page 54 |
Page 55 |
Page 56