I don't do reports, of which there are currently plenty.
I write stories about my adventures and share them with friends & family.
I thought I would share this one with you.
Oh, brother...
Last summer,
some friends and I,
enjoyed a fun trip,
fishing for bluefin tuna on Aztec.
One of the friends, "Fishy" Franco,
wanted to set something up for this year.
We wanted to step up to something a tad nicer though,
and ultimately,
after considering many,
we chose Vagabond.
I've ridden it before,
this will be Franco's maiden run.
After we booked our spots,
I told a fishy brother,
who told another brother,
who told another brother,
and before you knew it,
either thru blood,
or choice of avocation,
we had a dozen "bros" on board.
The GetAway...
Fast forward to last week,
I drove down to San Diego early Thursday morning.
I arrived at the landing about 8:30.
My fishy brother, Green Pea, from last November's Bird trip,
is coming at me,
with a cart,
to load my gear.
I thank him for thinking of me,
and explain that it's only a two-dayer,
so I don't need a cart for what little gear I have.
Everything I need fits in a cigar box.
I'm not one of those guys who brings an SKB on a two dayer.
I tell Pea I gotta go take a pee,
so I'll catch up with him in line.
On my way to the head,
I'm intercepted by another brother.
"Loreto, I need you to check something out for me."
It's my roommate, The Assassin.
Pronounced the old way, ah-sah-Seen,
AKA Vahe.
I tell him I gotta take a pee first,
and I'll be right with you.
I finally make it to the head,
finish my business,
grab the handle to exit the men's room,
and who is entering as I leave?
It's Fishy Franco, aka Steve.
We laugh.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
He left me a message a month or so ago,
told he was bailing out,
too busy,
wanted to know if I had someone to buy his ticket.
"WTF are you doing here?" I asked.
"Changed my mind," he said.
I push my way out of the Men's room,
and I'm making my way back to the parking lot,
to take care of Vahe's dilemma.
It's a tackle issue,
and I tell him,
we'll deal with it on the boat.
Vahe takes a moment to thank me again for the invite.
He reminds me we've been fishing together for almost two decades now.
He says he remembers the first trip like it was yesterday.
He says it was on Intrepid.
I'd have to check my notes.
Standing in front of Pt. Loma Sportfishing,
it seems they've moved the traditional line-up spot for Vagabond,
to the other side of the docks.
I can see some familiar faces over there waiting,
but before I can make my move,
I'm intercepted by another brother,
The Warlord,
aka Steve,
exiting the tackle shop.
We share a warm embrace,
and the laughs begin.
It's been a few seasons since we've rode together,
this will be a nice reunion cruise.
Eventually, Vahe & I maneuver our way to the end of the line.
We gave high fives,
fist bumps, and hugs to some,
hello to everyone else on our way down the sidewalk,
and when we get to the end of the line,
we introduce ourselves to our neighbors/shipmates.
Waiting to board,
I spy a gentleman friend of mine,
walking through the parking lot.
I head over to say "hello" to my fishy elder brother,
John Killer.
He's a legend.
I extend my open palm to shake hands,
and he pushes it away.
I was stunned,
until he moved in to give me a warm embrace.
Took it as a compliment,
I didn't know we were that way.
Killer is riding a different boat this weekend,
we wished each other good luck.
Back in the line-up,
looking around,
I see the Godfather of San Diego approaching.
It's Frank Lo Preste,
and I had to say hello to that legend.
He didn't know me,
but he returned my hello,
gave me a smile,
a handshake,
wished me good luck on my adventure.
After he walked away,
I told the fellas who he was.
They didn't know.
Time to board,
Vahe & I sauntered down to the boat.
We found our cabin and stowed our gear.
We started introducing ourselves to the other passengers.
Soon to be new friends,
some friends of friends,
some brothers,
some newbies,
some oldies.
Mi hermano alma, El Machete',
aka Miles,
is here with his blood brother, Willard,
and his fishy brother, Dr. Leo.
Met Miles on the Rooster,
we done some things since then.
Met Dr. Leo on the Bird too.
Happy to see him again,
I know he can fish.
So can brother Willard, it would turn out.
I mentioned Warlord.
He's with his blood brother, Bryan.
We all rode the Star together years ago,
and have maintained the connection.
Fish Killers.
Green Pea,
aka Tim,
has brought his blood brother, Ric, along.
One glimpse at Ric's tackle,
and I knew he wasn't as green as Pea.
A couple more of my other fishy brothers signed up for the trip.
Tee Dub & Dave Bee.
They're not blood,
they're tighter than that.
We met on Royal Star.
I made myself their brother-in-law ever since.
Done all kinds of trips together,
had all kinds of fun.
Tee & Bee are chartermaster Masters.
For a change,
they are just plain ol' passengers on this voyage.
Also on board,
a couple of brothers I met on a fishing website.
Bloodydeckers,
Mstrfsh,
aka Gabe,
is flying solo,
but we embraced him.
And Caserock, aka Mike Casey,
has a couple of his own fishy brothers in tow,
Ray & Rich.
Ray is good company.
Rich is on his very first tuna hunt.
Some Asian brothers with us.
Kevin, the hot stick,
with his dad, Alex.
Friends/brothers/whatever,
Sau & Ron,
made it a foursome.
Another Asian brother, Mike,
is a solo angler.
He's coming off of a failed attempt to harvest a bluefin on Islander,
and is a last minute addition to the roster.
We rolled Mike into the group,
easy peasy.
Another set of blood brothers,
Vahe later told me they were firefighting brothers as well.
Dave, the younger,
and Jeff, the burly.
It was a good group of people.
That Guy was there,
but for the most part,
didn't bother anyone.
Cameron is the Skipper this Voyage.
Captain Fluff was there.
My man, Hayden,
with the new guy, Eric,
on deck.
Jake, working the night shift.
Chef Glenn in the galley,
Ola, his helper.
Good guys,
professionals,
they treated me like a celebrity.
I'm sure they had me confused with someone else,
maybe my Texas brother, Laredo?
Never heard a discouraging word from anyone the entire voyage.
It's nice riding a boat where the crew doesn't change every season.
Underway...
Lunchtime.
Chef Glenn sets the bar.
Monster boat burger.
I couldn't finish it.
We're a few hours away from the rest of the fleet.
We're rigging tackle,
and resting up for the night ahead.
Tee comes by to chat.
He wants to know where I think the key to our Success can be located.
I tell him one word will sum it up.
"Rail Time."
4 p.m.
We make our first drift on tuna,
using light line,
flylining sardines on small hooks.
We go O for nothing.
6 p.m.
On another spot,
Caserock,
and his newbie pal,
Rich, both get bit.
They both get undone after short fights.
7 p.m.
BBQ rib dinner with Vahe, Willard, & solo Mike.
I was still full from that burger at lunch.
Used the time getting to know my tablemates a bit.
8:30 p.m.
After dinner,
time to try.
In my world,
this is the perfect time to get them.
Then, I could sleep tonight.
Icing on cake.
9:30 p.m.
The Captain locates a school of tuna on his electronics.
He tells us to drop our jigs in NOW!!
My bro & cabinmate,
Vahe, The Assassin,
gets the party started.
Yup, that's him in the corner,
kneeling to the tuna gods,
saying a prayer,
finding his religion.
Others get bit right after Vahe.
Ric's on!
Willard!
Dr. Leo!!
It was a fun night I heard.
I went to bed.
I agree with The Warlord,
who says,
"Jigging for big bluefin tuna at night,
is no country for old men."
Next day...
Forty two tuna last night.
Wow.
Just plain Wow.
There are a lot of happy anglers on deck this morning as I rise.
There are a few still trying.
They were snapping good at grey lite this morning.
Bee & I share some coffee and conversation.
He was surprised how long,
and how many,
of the anglers aboard stayed at it last night.
He tells me they usually lose one or two on every stop,
leaving only a handful left by morning.
I suggest the pleasant conditions,
a lack of wind,
or swell,
might have had something to do with it.
7:00 a.m.
It's quiet.
It's cool, grey, damp.
Good sleeping weather.
After breakfast,
most head down to their bunks,
and let their heads hit the sack for a few hours.
10:00 a.m.
Fresh baked cookies in the galley.
Hot cup of Joe.
Whale watching on the lido deck upstairs.
11:00 a.m.
The Skipper has gotten a couple of hours of sleep,
comes on the PA to wish us a good morning,
and give us the game plan for today.
"Rest up, we'll see you tonight."
Lunch
Tacos with Tee, Bee,
and The Assassin.
1:30 p.m.
Caserock gets one while we're flylining a school.
2:00 p.m.
Tee asks me if I'll do a dropshot seminar later.
We discussed our plans for this evening.
I tell Tee I've always wanted to kill a bluefin in my pajamas.
After carefully considering the idea,
Tee says he thinks he can help me make that dream,
become a reality.
3:45 p.m.
While snacking in the galley,
I teach Tee everything I know about the dropshot technique.
4:00 p.m.
The crew has discovered some stowaways hiding up top.
The hitchhikers are a family of small birds,
and the crew is trying their best to protect them from the elements.
Happy to report they made it back to San Diego safely.
5 p.m.
Cocktails.
7 p.m.
Chicken dinner.
Excellent.
Good food.
Good company.
Afterwards,
Vahe goes down to get some rest.
Pea does the same.
Pea wants to be fresh for the early morning pre dawn bite.
8 p.m.
Hunting them.
Tee comes by to chat.
Says he's caught his limit,
but wants to keep fishing.
He wants to know if he can stack a few on my number.
Ordinarily, I don't sanction that kind of behavior,
but I'm as greedy as the next guy,
and a tuna or two from Tee,
might keep me from going home empty netted.
Tee uses the moment to broach another sensitive subject.
He wants to know if I'll take a handoff from him.
After considering the idea,
"Sure," I say.
I'm not too proud.
Not after the ass whooping I took in April down in Pee Vee.
No, I'm not too proud at all.
9:00 p.m.
Cameron has located a school of fish using the electronics.
"Drop 'em in now," he implores.
Biter!!!
I watched Tee drop his jig in the water.
Seemed like just seconds passed,
and he was on.
I followed him up the port side.
Around midship,
he called my name,
he turned his head to look for me.
I was right there next to him.
I took the outfit from his hands.
I could tell this fish was larger than the grade we'd been getting.
Deckhand Eric was on my left,
checking the drag,
escorting me to the bow,
as the tuna headed for the horizon.
We got there,
with the fish steadily taking line the whole time.
I put the butt of the rod on top of the rail,
wedged it up against my left hip,
and finally put a bend in it.
The tuna didn't turn,
but he slowed down.
I put some line back on the reel.
The rail on this boat is low in the bow.
The anchor capstan is below the rail.
There's really no place for a tall angler to leverage the rod.
Except in his gut.
These days,
at my age,
I don't "bend the knee",
for anyone,
or anything.
We were fast approaching the point,
where the chili was going to meet the cheese,
and since I wasn't having much fun anymore,
I handed the outfit back to Tee.
Tee immediately went to his knees,
put the rod against the rail.
He put the reel in low gear,
and wound in the fish.
When he got it close,
he tried to give it back to me for the kill shot.
I passed.
When I saw the tuna was snagged in the tail,
it took some of the sting away.
Some, not all.
The crew brought the fish aboard.
Easily the largest of the trip so far.
We took some pictures.
Tee & I shared a long & warm embrace.
The rest of the evening is difficult to recollect.
Maybe it was too much Tito's vodka.
I know The Weeper showed up.
Tears of joy soon followed.
And some tears of sadness.
Some thoughts of anguish.
It's kind of a tough pill to swallow.
I couldn't beat that Pee Vee tuna in a fair fight.
Now, I can't even drag them in backwards?
Is it the end of the line for the old Cow Killer, Loreto?
Is ropin' calves what's left for me?
A rockin' chair,
on a porch somewhere?
IDK if I'm ready for that.
Around midnight,
I said goodnight to everyone on deck.
Tee told me the next morning he hooked another tuna late last night.
The tuna got away before he could send someone to knock on my cabin door.
But, he said, he was yelling for me,
trying to get me one in my pajamas.
The day after that...
5:30 a.m.
Wake up.
Shower up.
Breakfast up.
Biscuits & gravy,
best I ever had.
I bump into Vahe.
He's on top of the world.
Caught some more tuna.
Green Pea's load & time management plan didn't work out.
The dawn/grey lite bite never materialized.
We are on our way to the Sixty Mile Bank,
so called because of its distance from San Diego.
We are going to withdraw some rockfish.
The Bank has been closed for more than two decades.
Re-opened in January,
we're taking advantage.
Putting some additional quality tablefare in our sacks.
I've never been on a bluefin/rockfish combo trip before.
I expect the boat schedules will be full of them next season.
9:00 a.m.
Still fishing the cods.
The sea is flat.
Just a puff of breeze.
It's very comfortable.
I get a chance to chat up Captain Cameron this morning.
Besides running a sportboat, he is also a commercial fisherman.
Sporties & Commercials.
We attend the same church,
but we typically don't sit in the same pew with each other.
Hearing his take on things,
is very educational for a guy like me.
10:15 a.m.
Movin' & groovin' our way back to Tuna Town.
Vahe gives me a reading tip, Jack London's Star Rover.
I make a note of it.
Vahe knows I know everyone,
and he asks me who's that guy in the glasses?
I tell Vahe that some people call that man Clark Kent.
Some people call him Superman.
I call him Tee Dub.
I call him my brother.
1:15 p.m.
First stop of the day,
and last call for lunch.
Pulled Pork Sandwiches.
Cocktails for dessert.
2:00 p.m.
We stop and try for nada.
4:00 p.m.
Sushiparty in the galley.
All you can eat.
Come & get it!
7:00 p.m.
After a slow afternoon,
a tri tip dinner.
After all of that sushi,
hardly any takers.
I crowd into the main table with Vahe, Tim, Ric, Franco & Gabe.
Good company.
7:30 p.m.
Still hunting.
The weather resembles this morning's.
Grey, flat smooth, puff of breeze.
9:30 p.m.
Vahe again!
A biter!!
10:15 p.m.
The Wow finish.
Hayden, on top of the tank,
chums us up a bite of snapping fish.
The Master Baiter digs deep,
tossing netfulls of sardines,
to keep the bite going.
Everyone who wants one,
is getting one.
Later on,
a couple of the new guys ask me about signing up for next year's trip.
I have to break it to them gently that this is NOT my charter.
These are NOT my monkeys.
Sunday morning...
6:30 a.m.
I've overslept.
I go upstairs in my pajamas to use the head,
everyone else is dressed,
packed up,
and ready to get off of the boat.
I scramble to catch up.
After unloading our gear,
I'm back in front of the tackle shop,
waiting for the fish to come up from the boat.
We start saying our "good-byes",
and "see you next time" to each other.
Handshakes & hugs to guys who were strangers three days ago.
We were truly blessed with a really great group of anglers,
almost like brothers.
A young man walks by and says, "Hey Loreto!"
I scan my memory banks, but come up empty.
"I'm Kyle, " he says.
Of course, the chef from the Intrepid.
"You rode with us one time, a long time ago," he says.
"And you remember me?", I ask.
"You're very memorable," he says.
I'm thinking that's the trip Vahe & I shared so long ago.
That's kind of cosmic, isn't it?
Kyle is loading up groceries and he's heading out.
I wish him good luck.
I bumped into Marco from Five Star fish processing.
He wants to know if I had a good trip.
I tell him I did.
I tell him to have a good season processing.
Standing by my pile of goodies,
I spy another angler working his way towards me.
It's a Union Brother, Lou, from Hollywood.
We chat for a bit, he's riding Intrepid today with Kyle.
I tell him to have a good trip,
we wish each other good luck.
Breakfast at Perry's Cafe.
Passing the time with the lads,
until the call to "pick up your fish" comes.
I was on my way home by noon.
Sunday night...
After passing out some fresh fish to some friends,
and family,
Honey & I enjoyed a wonderful sashimi dinner.
Knowing my brothers,
and sisters,
are enjoying our wonderful bounty,
gives me a warm feeling.
Like my fuzzy pajamas.
EL FIN
I write stories about my adventures and share them with friends & family.
I thought I would share this one with you.
Oh, brother...
Last summer,
some friends and I,
enjoyed a fun trip,
fishing for bluefin tuna on Aztec.
One of the friends, "Fishy" Franco,
wanted to set something up for this year.
We wanted to step up to something a tad nicer though,
and ultimately,
after considering many,
we chose Vagabond.
I've ridden it before,
this will be Franco's maiden run.
After we booked our spots,
I told a fishy brother,
who told another brother,
who told another brother,
and before you knew it,
either thru blood,
or choice of avocation,
we had a dozen "bros" on board.
The GetAway...
Fast forward to last week,
I drove down to San Diego early Thursday morning.
I arrived at the landing about 8:30.
My fishy brother, Green Pea, from last November's Bird trip,
is coming at me,
with a cart,
to load my gear.
I thank him for thinking of me,
and explain that it's only a two-dayer,
so I don't need a cart for what little gear I have.
Everything I need fits in a cigar box.
I'm not one of those guys who brings an SKB on a two dayer.
I tell Pea I gotta go take a pee,
so I'll catch up with him in line.
On my way to the head,
I'm intercepted by another brother.
"Loreto, I need you to check something out for me."
It's my roommate, The Assassin.
Pronounced the old way, ah-sah-Seen,
AKA Vahe.
I tell him I gotta take a pee first,
and I'll be right with you.
I finally make it to the head,
finish my business,
grab the handle to exit the men's room,
and who is entering as I leave?
It's Fishy Franco, aka Steve.
We laugh.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
He left me a message a month or so ago,
told he was bailing out,
too busy,
wanted to know if I had someone to buy his ticket.
"WTF are you doing here?" I asked.
"Changed my mind," he said.
I push my way out of the Men's room,
and I'm making my way back to the parking lot,
to take care of Vahe's dilemma.
It's a tackle issue,
and I tell him,
we'll deal with it on the boat.
Vahe takes a moment to thank me again for the invite.
He reminds me we've been fishing together for almost two decades now.
He says he remembers the first trip like it was yesterday.
He says it was on Intrepid.
I'd have to check my notes.
Standing in front of Pt. Loma Sportfishing,
it seems they've moved the traditional line-up spot for Vagabond,
to the other side of the docks.
I can see some familiar faces over there waiting,
but before I can make my move,
I'm intercepted by another brother,
The Warlord,
aka Steve,
exiting the tackle shop.
We share a warm embrace,
and the laughs begin.
It's been a few seasons since we've rode together,
this will be a nice reunion cruise.
Eventually, Vahe & I maneuver our way to the end of the line.
We gave high fives,
fist bumps, and hugs to some,
hello to everyone else on our way down the sidewalk,
and when we get to the end of the line,
we introduce ourselves to our neighbors/shipmates.
Waiting to board,
I spy a gentleman friend of mine,
walking through the parking lot.
I head over to say "hello" to my fishy elder brother,
John Killer.
He's a legend.
I extend my open palm to shake hands,
and he pushes it away.
I was stunned,
until he moved in to give me a warm embrace.
Took it as a compliment,
I didn't know we were that way.
Killer is riding a different boat this weekend,
we wished each other good luck.
Back in the line-up,
looking around,
I see the Godfather of San Diego approaching.
It's Frank Lo Preste,
and I had to say hello to that legend.
He didn't know me,
but he returned my hello,
gave me a smile,
a handshake,
wished me good luck on my adventure.
After he walked away,
I told the fellas who he was.
They didn't know.
Time to board,
Vahe & I sauntered down to the boat.
We found our cabin and stowed our gear.
We started introducing ourselves to the other passengers.
Soon to be new friends,
some friends of friends,
some brothers,
some newbies,
some oldies.
Mi hermano alma, El Machete',
aka Miles,
is here with his blood brother, Willard,
and his fishy brother, Dr. Leo.
Met Miles on the Rooster,
we done some things since then.
Met Dr. Leo on the Bird too.
Happy to see him again,
I know he can fish.
So can brother Willard, it would turn out.
I mentioned Warlord.
He's with his blood brother, Bryan.
We all rode the Star together years ago,
and have maintained the connection.
Fish Killers.
Green Pea,
aka Tim,
has brought his blood brother, Ric, along.
One glimpse at Ric's tackle,
and I knew he wasn't as green as Pea.
A couple more of my other fishy brothers signed up for the trip.
Tee Dub & Dave Bee.
They're not blood,
they're tighter than that.
We met on Royal Star.
I made myself their brother-in-law ever since.
Done all kinds of trips together,
had all kinds of fun.
Tee & Bee are chartermaster Masters.
For a change,
they are just plain ol' passengers on this voyage.
Also on board,
a couple of brothers I met on a fishing website.
Bloodydeckers,
Mstrfsh,
aka Gabe,
is flying solo,
but we embraced him.
And Caserock, aka Mike Casey,
has a couple of his own fishy brothers in tow,
Ray & Rich.
Ray is good company.
Rich is on his very first tuna hunt.
Some Asian brothers with us.
Kevin, the hot stick,
with his dad, Alex.
Friends/brothers/whatever,
Sau & Ron,
made it a foursome.
Another Asian brother, Mike,
is a solo angler.
He's coming off of a failed attempt to harvest a bluefin on Islander,
and is a last minute addition to the roster.
We rolled Mike into the group,
easy peasy.
Another set of blood brothers,
Vahe later told me they were firefighting brothers as well.
Dave, the younger,
and Jeff, the burly.
It was a good group of people.
That Guy was there,
but for the most part,
didn't bother anyone.
Cameron is the Skipper this Voyage.
Captain Fluff was there.
My man, Hayden,
with the new guy, Eric,
on deck.
Jake, working the night shift.
Chef Glenn in the galley,
Ola, his helper.
Good guys,
professionals,
they treated me like a celebrity.
I'm sure they had me confused with someone else,
maybe my Texas brother, Laredo?
Never heard a discouraging word from anyone the entire voyage.
It's nice riding a boat where the crew doesn't change every season.
Underway...
Lunchtime.
Chef Glenn sets the bar.
Monster boat burger.
I couldn't finish it.
We're a few hours away from the rest of the fleet.
We're rigging tackle,
and resting up for the night ahead.
Tee comes by to chat.
He wants to know where I think the key to our Success can be located.
I tell him one word will sum it up.
"Rail Time."
4 p.m.
We make our first drift on tuna,
using light line,
flylining sardines on small hooks.
We go O for nothing.
6 p.m.
On another spot,
Caserock,
and his newbie pal,
Rich, both get bit.
They both get undone after short fights.
7 p.m.
BBQ rib dinner with Vahe, Willard, & solo Mike.
I was still full from that burger at lunch.
Used the time getting to know my tablemates a bit.
8:30 p.m.
After dinner,
time to try.
In my world,
this is the perfect time to get them.
Then, I could sleep tonight.
Icing on cake.
9:30 p.m.
The Captain locates a school of tuna on his electronics.
He tells us to drop our jigs in NOW!!
My bro & cabinmate,
Vahe, The Assassin,
gets the party started.
Yup, that's him in the corner,
kneeling to the tuna gods,
saying a prayer,
finding his religion.
Others get bit right after Vahe.
Ric's on!
Willard!
Dr. Leo!!
It was a fun night I heard.
I went to bed.
I agree with The Warlord,
who says,
"Jigging for big bluefin tuna at night,
is no country for old men."
Next day...
Forty two tuna last night.
Wow.
Just plain Wow.
There are a lot of happy anglers on deck this morning as I rise.
There are a few still trying.
They were snapping good at grey lite this morning.
Bee & I share some coffee and conversation.
He was surprised how long,
and how many,
of the anglers aboard stayed at it last night.
He tells me they usually lose one or two on every stop,
leaving only a handful left by morning.
I suggest the pleasant conditions,
a lack of wind,
or swell,
might have had something to do with it.
7:00 a.m.
It's quiet.
It's cool, grey, damp.
Good sleeping weather.
After breakfast,
most head down to their bunks,
and let their heads hit the sack for a few hours.
10:00 a.m.
Fresh baked cookies in the galley.
Hot cup of Joe.
Whale watching on the lido deck upstairs.
11:00 a.m.
The Skipper has gotten a couple of hours of sleep,
comes on the PA to wish us a good morning,
and give us the game plan for today.
"Rest up, we'll see you tonight."
Lunch
Tacos with Tee, Bee,
and The Assassin.
1:30 p.m.
Caserock gets one while we're flylining a school.
2:00 p.m.
Tee asks me if I'll do a dropshot seminar later.
We discussed our plans for this evening.
I tell Tee I've always wanted to kill a bluefin in my pajamas.
After carefully considering the idea,
Tee says he thinks he can help me make that dream,
become a reality.
3:45 p.m.
While snacking in the galley,
I teach Tee everything I know about the dropshot technique.
4:00 p.m.
The crew has discovered some stowaways hiding up top.
The hitchhikers are a family of small birds,
and the crew is trying their best to protect them from the elements.
Happy to report they made it back to San Diego safely.
5 p.m.
Cocktails.
7 p.m.
Chicken dinner.
Excellent.
Good food.
Good company.
Afterwards,
Vahe goes down to get some rest.
Pea does the same.
Pea wants to be fresh for the early morning pre dawn bite.
8 p.m.
Hunting them.
Tee comes by to chat.
Says he's caught his limit,
but wants to keep fishing.
He wants to know if he can stack a few on my number.
Ordinarily, I don't sanction that kind of behavior,
but I'm as greedy as the next guy,
and a tuna or two from Tee,
might keep me from going home empty netted.
Tee uses the moment to broach another sensitive subject.
He wants to know if I'll take a handoff from him.
After considering the idea,
"Sure," I say.
I'm not too proud.
Not after the ass whooping I took in April down in Pee Vee.
No, I'm not too proud at all.
9:00 p.m.
Cameron has located a school of fish using the electronics.
"Drop 'em in now," he implores.
Biter!!!
I watched Tee drop his jig in the water.
Seemed like just seconds passed,
and he was on.
I followed him up the port side.
Around midship,
he called my name,
he turned his head to look for me.
I was right there next to him.
I took the outfit from his hands.
I could tell this fish was larger than the grade we'd been getting.
Deckhand Eric was on my left,
checking the drag,
escorting me to the bow,
as the tuna headed for the horizon.
We got there,
with the fish steadily taking line the whole time.
I put the butt of the rod on top of the rail,
wedged it up against my left hip,
and finally put a bend in it.
The tuna didn't turn,
but he slowed down.
I put some line back on the reel.
The rail on this boat is low in the bow.
The anchor capstan is below the rail.
There's really no place for a tall angler to leverage the rod.
Except in his gut.
These days,
at my age,
I don't "bend the knee",
for anyone,
or anything.
We were fast approaching the point,
where the chili was going to meet the cheese,
and since I wasn't having much fun anymore,
I handed the outfit back to Tee.
Tee immediately went to his knees,
put the rod against the rail.
He put the reel in low gear,
and wound in the fish.
When he got it close,
he tried to give it back to me for the kill shot.
I passed.
When I saw the tuna was snagged in the tail,
it took some of the sting away.
Some, not all.
The crew brought the fish aboard.
Easily the largest of the trip so far.
We took some pictures.
Tee & I shared a long & warm embrace.
The rest of the evening is difficult to recollect.
Maybe it was too much Tito's vodka.
I know The Weeper showed up.
Tears of joy soon followed.
And some tears of sadness.
Some thoughts of anguish.
It's kind of a tough pill to swallow.
I couldn't beat that Pee Vee tuna in a fair fight.
Now, I can't even drag them in backwards?
Is it the end of the line for the old Cow Killer, Loreto?
Is ropin' calves what's left for me?
A rockin' chair,
on a porch somewhere?
IDK if I'm ready for that.
Around midnight,
I said goodnight to everyone on deck.
Tee told me the next morning he hooked another tuna late last night.
The tuna got away before he could send someone to knock on my cabin door.
But, he said, he was yelling for me,
trying to get me one in my pajamas.
The day after that...
5:30 a.m.
Wake up.
Shower up.
Breakfast up.
Biscuits & gravy,
best I ever had.
I bump into Vahe.
He's on top of the world.
Caught some more tuna.
Green Pea's load & time management plan didn't work out.
The dawn/grey lite bite never materialized.
We are on our way to the Sixty Mile Bank,
so called because of its distance from San Diego.
We are going to withdraw some rockfish.
The Bank has been closed for more than two decades.
Re-opened in January,
we're taking advantage.
Putting some additional quality tablefare in our sacks.
I've never been on a bluefin/rockfish combo trip before.
I expect the boat schedules will be full of them next season.
9:00 a.m.
Still fishing the cods.
The sea is flat.
Just a puff of breeze.
It's very comfortable.
I get a chance to chat up Captain Cameron this morning.
Besides running a sportboat, he is also a commercial fisherman.
Sporties & Commercials.
We attend the same church,
but we typically don't sit in the same pew with each other.
Hearing his take on things,
is very educational for a guy like me.
10:15 a.m.
Movin' & groovin' our way back to Tuna Town.
Vahe gives me a reading tip, Jack London's Star Rover.
I make a note of it.
Vahe knows I know everyone,
and he asks me who's that guy in the glasses?
I tell Vahe that some people call that man Clark Kent.
Some people call him Superman.
I call him Tee Dub.
I call him my brother.
1:15 p.m.
First stop of the day,
and last call for lunch.
Pulled Pork Sandwiches.
Cocktails for dessert.
2:00 p.m.
We stop and try for nada.
4:00 p.m.
Sushiparty in the galley.
All you can eat.
Come & get it!
7:00 p.m.
After a slow afternoon,
a tri tip dinner.
After all of that sushi,
hardly any takers.
I crowd into the main table with Vahe, Tim, Ric, Franco & Gabe.
Good company.
7:30 p.m.
Still hunting.
The weather resembles this morning's.
Grey, flat smooth, puff of breeze.
9:30 p.m.
Vahe again!
A biter!!
10:15 p.m.
The Wow finish.
Hayden, on top of the tank,
chums us up a bite of snapping fish.
The Master Baiter digs deep,
tossing netfulls of sardines,
to keep the bite going.
Everyone who wants one,
is getting one.
Later on,
a couple of the new guys ask me about signing up for next year's trip.
I have to break it to them gently that this is NOT my charter.
These are NOT my monkeys.
Sunday morning...
6:30 a.m.
I've overslept.
I go upstairs in my pajamas to use the head,
everyone else is dressed,
packed up,
and ready to get off of the boat.
I scramble to catch up.
After unloading our gear,
I'm back in front of the tackle shop,
waiting for the fish to come up from the boat.
We start saying our "good-byes",
and "see you next time" to each other.
Handshakes & hugs to guys who were strangers three days ago.
We were truly blessed with a really great group of anglers,
almost like brothers.
A young man walks by and says, "Hey Loreto!"
I scan my memory banks, but come up empty.
"I'm Kyle, " he says.
Of course, the chef from the Intrepid.
"You rode with us one time, a long time ago," he says.
"And you remember me?", I ask.
"You're very memorable," he says.
I'm thinking that's the trip Vahe & I shared so long ago.
That's kind of cosmic, isn't it?
Kyle is loading up groceries and he's heading out.
I wish him good luck.
I bumped into Marco from Five Star fish processing.
He wants to know if I had a good trip.
I tell him I did.
I tell him to have a good season processing.
Standing by my pile of goodies,
I spy another angler working his way towards me.
It's a Union Brother, Lou, from Hollywood.
We chat for a bit, he's riding Intrepid today with Kyle.
I tell him to have a good trip,
we wish each other good luck.
Breakfast at Perry's Cafe.
Passing the time with the lads,
until the call to "pick up your fish" comes.
I was on my way home by noon.
Sunday night...
After passing out some fresh fish to some friends,
and family,
Honey & I enjoyed a wonderful sashimi dinner.
Knowing my brothers,
and sisters,
are enjoying our wonderful bounty,
gives me a warm feeling.
Like my fuzzy pajamas.
EL FIN
