FISH ON!

A real fish story

 

“Look!” Frank shouts. “Straight ahead, where the birds are!” Frank, our fishing boat captain, shoves the throttle to full ahead and we race toward what boat captains call la mancha—the stain—an area the size of a small arena where the deep blue ocean has been churned to a white froth. “Oh man, there are some big tuna breaking water, feeding on the surface.”

I can’t see the tuna but I definitely see the birds circling the area and diving into the water. And then the most amazing sight of all: spinner dolphins flying into the air, turning a half-dozen rotations before falling back to the water. Until this day, I’d never heard of a spinner dolphin, let alone seen one. And yet there they are—one, two, three, and more—shooting into the air like prima ballerinas.

We are twenty-five miles off the west coast of Costa Rica, out of the harbor town of Flamingo. Our party consists of my daughter Cheryl and her husband Bruce, their sons Mason and Collin, my daughter Kim, and me. Cheryl and her family have lived in Tamarindo for more than twenty years and are involved in several business ventures there. Kim lives in Welches, Oregon, with her husband Cliff and extended family. It’s my first visit to Costa Rica, a gift from my five children in honor of my eightieth birthday, and this will be a day I’ll never forget.

Bruce and my grandson Collin are experienced spear fishermen. Captain Frank will try to position the boat out in front of the dolphins and tuna. Then Bruce and Collin will jump into the water with snorkel gear and spear guns and descend about thirty feet below the surface. The dolphins will come racing by, followed closely by a school of yellowfin tuna. The goal is to get a good clean shot at a tuna, after which the speared fish will dive deep, taking with it a line attached to a float. The fish will eventually wear itself out, the float will come to the surface, and the catch hauled in.

We speed along with forty, fifty, a hundred or more dolphins racing alongside the boat. Bruce and Collin are in the bow, ready to go into the water. My grandson Mason is busy capturing as much of the action as possible via his 35 mm camera and his trusty smartphone. He is a skilled photographer, filmmaker and editor, like a young Spielberg. In the meantime, Captain Frank’s deckhand has rigged two fishing poles and cast them to troll behind the boat. Finally, Frank cuts the engine and Bruce and Collin are in the water, dropping below the surface, hoping for a clear shot as the tuna race by.

“Fish on!” Frank shouts. The rod nearest me bends at a ninety-degree angle and the reel sings as the line races out. “Grab that rod, Chuck. Let it run if it’s taking line, otherwise crank hard, reel it in.”

I go to the rod and begin reeling. The fish makes a couple of runs and I keep on cranking. My arm is tiring and I think about giving up, handing the job to someone else. But call it pride or call it machismo, there is no way I can quit. I keep straining to gain line. Suddenly the fish comes into view. I’m winning the battle. Now the deckhand moves in, a heavy glove on his left hand, a long gaff in his right. He grabs the line with his left hand and pulls the fish near the side of the boat. With his right, he makes a quick move with the gaff and jerks the fish up into the boat. It flaps wildly on the deck, blood splattering everywhere. In a matter of minutes, the deckhand has the yellowfin safely in cold storage, surrounded by bags of ice. Our best guess is it weighs about sixty pounds.

Bruce and Collin swim back to the boat disappointed. The drop point must be precise to find the tuna schooling behind the dolphins, and this time the positioning was off. Captain Frank idles as the spearfishermen climb aboard. All the while, the great gathering of fish and sea birds has moved on. The captain guns the engine and off we go, his eyes alternating between his radar screen and the horizon.

            Finding la mancha is a continuing challenge because the fish change direction frequently. We spend most of the day dashing here and there, trying to relocate our prey, successful on at least two more occasions. Late in the day the shout of “fish on” goes up again. This time Cheryl takes the rod and begins reeling. Aided by Collin, she lands our second yellowfin of the day. It’s a little smaller than the first one, but a beauty, nonetheless. Bruce and Collin come up empty, unable to find their prey today, but we have two nice tuna to bring home. 

It’s time to head back to shore and we begin the long journey home. I think about Cheryl and Bruce and the life they’ve built here in Costa Rica. Their entrepreneurial ventures are too numerous to list here, but the current flagship is their property management firm: Stay in Tamarindo. If you have an urge to visit Costa Rica, maybe catch a tuna of your own, or visit a volcanic national park, or catch a perfect wave on your surfboard, Stay in Tamarindo has the ideal vacation rental for you.

            The boat races on, the harbor coming into view. I think about Kim and the beautiful life she and hubby Cliff have built in Welches, Oregon. Kim provided a last-minute surprise, joining me in Los Angeles for the flight to Costa Rica. She will be with us for the first week of my stay and it is a joy to have Kim and Cheryl in one place at the same time. It doesn’t happen often enough. From these two beautiful daughters, I count seven of my twelve grandchildren, plus five great grandchildren, soon to be six.  

            What did I ever do to be so blessed?

***

Back home, Bruce goes to work immediately to clean and filet the fish. Collin and Mason jump in to make it a team effort. As Bruce carves off the filets, Collin trims and cuts them into thick steaks while Mason packs and seals them in freezer bags. Cheryl and Kim join the team, preparing rice, green salad, and other side dishes. My job is to hoist a cold beer and offer encouragement. Later that evening, we sit down to a dinner featuring perfectly seasoned and seared tuna steaks. It isn’t lost on me that these delicious steaks were swimming freely in the deep blue Pacific earlier this same day.

Through all of this teamwork, Mason has been telling us about a documentary series narrated by Sir David Attenborough titled Our Planet. One episode, “The High Seas,” features a segment on spinner dolphins. After dinner, we gather in front of the TV and Mason finds the episode we’re looking for. It is a fascinating explanation of what we witnessed at sea.

It turns out dolphins and yellowfin tuna feed on the same tiny species called lantern fish, a species that thrives because it has no commercial value and is, therefore, not hunted by the fishing fleets of the world. Yellowfin tuna follow the dolphins because dolphins are like cowboys, herding the lantern fish together into a compact school. The Attenborough team’s brilliant underwater photography captures this phenomenon perfectly, the dolphins working to keep the school together, the school of lantern fish looking like a giant balloon, swerving and swirling, held tight by the hard-working cowboys, all the while pushing the school toward the surface. Then, as though someone fired a starter’s pistol, the feast is on. Dolphins and tuna attack the lantern fish in a feeding frenzy, joined by sea birds diving from the air, creating the boil on the surface of the ocean the fishing captains call la mancha.

As for the spinner dolphins, according to Attenborough, they are very rare, found primarily in two locations: off the coast of Costa Rica and around the Hawaiian Islands. I am stunned! On a planet seventy percent covered by water, I spent the day in one of the two places on Earth that spinner dolphins call home.

When Sir David says goodnight, so does our intrepid crew. We’ve been up since four in the morning, a very long day indeed. Still, it takes a while for my mind to calm down and prepare for sleep. Every time I close my eyes, one, two, three, or more spinners go flying into the air, and Captain Frank is shouting, “Fish on!”

 

                                                  Me, Cheryl, Collin, Mason, Bruce, and Kim

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