Bisbee Bulletin, No.4: Treading Water, And I'm Not Kidding

The weather on Tuesday - and weather has been the story in Cabo San Lucas so far - was intermittent rain the day long and blustery wind in the late afternoon. It was more like a winter front passing through Destin than tropical storm conditions at the edge of the Pacific on the periphery of North America, although outside the harbor, as seen from high on the hill to which clings the Pedregal development where the Messican Mansion we are renting is located, some very handsome waves were hard at work sculpting the rock formations below.

In the morning, Wayne, George, and I went down to the Carpe Diem, where we met Captain Jeff, First Mate Yogi, and Second Mate Chris. Captain Jeff is a Norte Americano who came fishing here twenty years ago and forgot to go home. He is married to a Mexican woman, and the lean, swarthy, nineteen year old Chris is the fruit of this union. Yogi is a third world deck hand from central casting - stocky, amiable, and, above all, professional. If I was Ernest Hemingway, and the Carpe Diem was the Pilar, then Yogi would be a well fed Gregorio Fuentes.

Wayne, George, and I re-rigged from soup to nuts a dozen marlin lures Wayne brought with him, including new hook sets as well as new leaders, while Yogi and Chris put new wind-on leaders on the reels. We are going to fish six 130 pound reels on bent butt rods and one straight rod 80 pound outfit for the long center line. I have, of course, seen 130 pound rods and reels, but I have not fished them before. They are huge, and the drags are set at between 32 and 35 pounds. Just getting one out of the rod holder and to the chair with a big marlin on should be an adventure for a poorly conditioned old man like myself. And, by their own admission, no women need apply. Maria, who can handle an 80 and expects there to be a number of them in the spread, is going to be fried when she sees the six 130s, but Wayne and I see no reason to provoke her by telling her in advance.

It turned out Jeff has some horse ballyhoo caught locally in his freezer, so we walked over to Minerva's, the Cabo offshore fishing tackle store of choice, where Minerva herself was behind the counter, to buy the makings for ballyhoo rigs - copper wire, 10/0 hooks, 300 pound leader, and sleeves. Folks in these parts either live bait (the Carpe Diem is equipped with tuna tubes) or lure fish; dragging dead natural bait is not unknown, but it is deemed an exotic practice.

We met the Lady Bisbees and Roy for lunch at the Baha Cantina, which is on the marina quay.
The service was good, as was the food, and the ambience was perfectly pitched to the expectations of fishing turistas - rough wooden floor, tables and chairs, ceiling fans, circular bar, a sleeping dog here and there, the patter of a foreign tongue, and hundreds of sportfishing boats in the marina just beyond the verandah.

But the town is a wreck. It seems some major transportation improvements are in train, because the streets are torn up to a fare thee well, with orange tape and ubiquitous traffic cones so arranged as to ensure that you will get lost in your rented van, or at least be hopelessly immoblized at the end of a blockaded street, wedged between a back hoe and a dump truck and hemmed in by a delivery van that pulls up behind you and starts to unload before you can escape.

Then add water. The Baja is an arid corner of the world unaccustomed to rain, and, as a result, drainage is a concept that eludes the Cabo city fathers. Mud and water is so prevalent as to be unavoidable. The streets run with water four inches deep, the construction potholes that are more like bomb craters are latte colored lakes, and the shop keepers sweep water out of their stores into the street. Many high maintenance gringas with sleek sandles and freshly pedicured and painted toe nails, including the Lady Bisbees, have had to reconcile themselves to mud between their toes. Now that the rain has ceased, we are all looking forward to some good, old fashioned Messican dust in our teeth.

The captains' meeting took place at 6 PM in the center of the mall that wraps around the west and north side of the giant marina. (The contrast here between foreign private investment and indigenous resources, whether private or public, is striking.) The crews and anglers from some 80 plus boats were there, including a first ever Japanese entry. Sponsor booths encirled the crowd. Among them was a booth full of Russians giving away some kind of vodka, one of whom was improbably wearing a Nazi helmet. And then there were the busty, dusky, raven haired Latina wenches who I feel certain have as much to do with the allure of Cabo for American fishermen as the fish - the Corona girls in purple bandeau dresses, the Ujena girls in black short shorts and halter tops, and the Baha Cantina girls in red bikinis, all in high, high heels, swaying to the background music.

The tournament will begin on Thursday and has been extended through Saturday. All boats (81 as of last night, down from 170 plus three years ago) must be behind the start line by 0745 each day for the 0800 shotgun start. Lines must be out of the water by 5 PM on Thursday and Friday, and by 2 PM on Saturday. Total prize money as of last night was $1.9 million, and is expected to top $2 million. As a newcomer to this tournament, I am prepared to share this money with others; I do not want to be thought greedy or impolite.

Following the captain's meeting we retired to Ruth's Chris in the mall, where we sat at the bar wearing the Bisbee t-shirts Wayne and Maria had made for us and the tournament visors George and J.R. provided for the team. We might have looked odd had it not been for the fact that the tables were occupied by similarly attired teams from the Game On, Capella, Miss B Haven, and other boats. Weathered by sun and wind and marinated in tequila, the competition is a gnarly looking lot.

We did not stay out late drinking, if for no other reason that some of the Bisbee Bunch had started early. In fact, I was in bed by 9 PM, nursing my new goiter - which, by the way, is much improved this morning - and was still awake when I heard Betty fall down the spiral marble stairs connecting the living area to the bedroom level. Mary reported to me that Betty hit her head and elbow pretty hard, and that Wayne had picked her up and carried her to her room as if she were a child, his bad back notwithstanding. But no ambulance was called, so I went to sleep.

Today is Tournament Eve, and I am beginning to get excited.