Big-Game Fishing

In December 1963, I made my first solo trip out of the continental United States. I was intrigued by the idea of seeing some of Mexico, but more so by the prospect of going after sailfish.

After a few days of wandering around Acapulco and the surrounding area, experiencing the culture and tasty local foods, I was ready to get serious. The open water and the prospect of sailfish had me hooked. After booking a captain, boat and crew, I was ready for the showdown between me and those beautiful game fish.

I was up at 4 a.m. I took the time to enjoy a cup of rich, black coffee accompanied by a basket of fresh fruit and rolls while sitting on the porch of my hotel room, listening to the sub-tropical birds. A perfect start to any day.

At about 5 a.m. it was time to climb into a hotel Jeep — with a pink-and-white striped cover, which looked like a circus attraction — and head to the docks.

The captain and crew of two were quite friendly and welcoming. Hello, thank you, and two or three other words were collectively the extent of their English, but thankfully I was reasonably conversant in Spanish. We left the pier, and my pulse rate was increasing with the hopeful anticipation of an impending battle.

The flaming, red sun broke over the horizon, revealing a calm azure sea. The crew was readying the rods and the outriggers. We were going to troll four lines.

When we reached the fishing location the captain gave the order, and the four lines went out. The two outermost lines were held by clothespin-like clips that would release upon a strike. I was in that ecstatic state of mind a fisherman experiences when the outside world disappears, and the anticipation of that strike obliterates all other thought.

Two hours of trolling produced nothing but sunburn and deepening depression, caused by the apparent failure of my venture. Suddenly, the captain called out. He had spotted a shark and wanted to know if I wanted to try for it. My emphatic response required no forethought. “No! We came for sailfish. That’s all.” Oh well, back to trolling.

I was staring, frustrated, at the open water, maybe mentally calling the sails to the bait. Perhaps 10 minutes after the shark sighting, I spotted something in the distance. I called to the captain. “Is that a sail?” He looked in the direction I indicated and responded with a big smile. “Si, señor.”

He changed course and increased speed, heading for the target location.

There was a sudden sharp snap and a clothespin release. The line in the left outrigger had been struck. I grabbed the rod, slipped into a fighting chair, and the battle was on. I could feel the ear-to-ear grin of thrilled satisfaction.

The initial battle, as with all big-game fishing, was a give-and-take between the fish and the fisherman. One would gain for a while, then the other. Each used their best efforts, one to catch, the other to escape.

Twenty minutes later, as the sail was being brought aboard, one of the stern lines was hit. I grabbed that rod and was back in the battle.

In the end we boated six sailfish, the crew accounting for three of them. We were allowed to keep one fish. The others were held alongside by their bills until their strength and energy returned. They were then released. This method prevented the weakened fish from being attacked by sharks.

As we returned, I looked at my trophy. There is a certain majestic beauty to sailfish, unmatched, in my opinion, by other game fish. I was exhausted but thrilled and had a few blisters on my hands.

We came into port, flying six flags, the only boat to have taken fish that day.

Fishing for sails at Acapulco was a dream come true. It was the adventure of a lifetime!