2000fish's Blog – Steve Wozniak's hunt for fish species

DATELINE: NOVEMBER 13, 2022 – PUERTO PENASCO, MEXICO

Part of fishing, especially species-hunting, is timing. Each day might have only a golden hour where the fish are really biting – if you’re lucky. Sometimes even a few golden minutes can make it all worthwhile. But it gets worrisome to write a blog about a three-day trip that, like Cousin Chuck’s first date, was marked by perhaps 15 golden seconds. (And five of those were watching The Mucus slip and fall in a tidepool.)

The destination – Puerto Penasco, Mexico – has become a traditional “last hurrah” of the season with the Moore family. I have been to Rocky Point six times, and this means we have to face the math of diminishing returns. Still, there are always a few species to chase, notably that awful Cortez stingray that I irrationally blame Carson Moore for taking away from me. And this time, we would be joined by great friend Gerry Hansell.

I always leave for this trip knowing that will be the last meaningful fishing of the year – once we’re back to our respective homes, holiday season is in full swing. There are lights to put up, parties to plan, and relatives to avoid. 

This all has to be up and running by the day after Thanksgiving, or Santa will be angry.

And so we did the traditional meeting in Phoenix and the traditional piling into Chris’ truck early the next morning. Gerry got stuck in the back with The Mucus, and I must say he was very patient with the drooling and food throwing. (But Gerry has children and pets of his own, so he was ready.) Sadly, Carson was on a church mission and would not be joining us. It’s about a four hour drive, loaded with desert scenery.

The truck of Chris. Big, comfortable, and no one minds if you spill a bag of Fritos on the floor. And no one minds if you eat them later.

The road trip conversation is always entertaining, unless The Mucus gets going on politics or global warming. Speaking of global warming, The Mucus actually caused some. Chris was subtly delighted to share a story involving Brayden and one of his first attempts to cook for himself. He tried to prepare something less than advanced – prepackaged rice – but somehow, it went very wrong. 

This is what he ended up with. Not edible, but they’re still using it as a doorstop.

We arrived in Penasco and jumped onto a boat with Eduardo, another very solid local guide.

That’s me and Eduardo, photobombed by The Mucus.

While the weather was decent and the scenery was gorgeous as always, the Moores and I were mostly stumbling into the same species we had seen previously – triggerfish, sergeants, triggerfish, and grunts. Gerry, a Penasco newbie, was doing quite well, as most of the normal Sea of Cortez fish were new to him.

Note that Gerry has a properly-applied Scopolamine patch behind his right ear. Note that he is upright. These facts are related.

Gerry added several species on the boat, including his first Cortez bonefish. 

   

These are always a thrill – pound for pound, one of the hardest-fighting fish in the world.

And his first Pacific-side sand perch. It made me fondly remember how thrilled I was with my first one, and how not thrilled I was with my 400th.

I just kept catching the same Cortez grunt over and over.

This is a Cortez grunt. “Cooooortez grunt” is also the noise Chris makes when he gets seasick. It sounds like someone trying to speed-gargle scrambled eggs.

But the waters were calm and the medication was effective, so Chris’ breakfast stayed put.

Day two on the boat was more of the same – a lot of fun catching inshore species on light tackle, but nothing new for me. Gerry continued tacking on a few, which is always nice to see, but let’s face it, I would have preferred I was catching at least the occasional new species. 

The porgies were especially plentiful, and these things pull hard on a trout rod.

Lovely scenery, but what I noticed first was that flock of birds. Unfortunately, there was nothing under them.

No, the Mucus was not actually barfing. But for that majority of you who just look at the pictures, that’s how you’ll remember it.

We also tried shore fishing each evening, but alas, the Moores and I got only the usual suspects. (Gerry again added a few, which is nice, but, you know, not as nice as something new for me.)

Gerry starts stacking up the blennies.

We did have one startling moment that afternoon. We made a quick stop to get some Pepsis. Gerry, who is frighteningly intelligent, relentlessly reasonable, and an even more cautious eater than I am, randomly wandered off and got a fruit smoothie – from a street vendor. He consumed half of it before I noticed and pointed out that he was now at high risk for spectacular food poisoning. From my own awful experience, I fear street food and the only stuff I would ever buy from a street vendor would have to be in a can that was sealed in the American Midwest.

While I am happy to report nothing happened to Gerry, amoebic dysentery wasn’t out of the question and would have made for a more exciting story, which we would have called “Gerry Discovers Flagyl.” I never like to see a friend sick, but I have also never outgrown the urge to say “I told you so.” I was certainly surprised to see Gerry show a culinary adventurous side, or an iron stomach, and the fact that this was the most exciting thing that had happened so far tells us how bad the fishing was for me.

The inadvisable smoothie.

There were some lovely sunsets.

On our last day, we had planned a deepwater charter for big grouper, but the wind came up and they advised us to cancel. Limited to shore fishing, we decided to mix it up and try a spot recommended by old friend Dom Porcelli that was alleged to have a small permit relative called a Paloma Pompano.

For a tourist town in Mexico, beach access was way too complicated. The spot we had from Dom was in the middle of two big hotels, and they were flat-out hostile to the idea of guest parking. Even the normal offers of small-scale bribery didn’t help our cause. We ended up parking in a golf course lot about a mile away, and, despite the fact that the course was closing and so the place was almost empty, the attendant still really had a problem with us. I know this sort of redistribution of resources sounds socialist, but politics are unimportant when fishing is involved. So we took our chances and parked there. (The attendant went home and dutifully locked the gate, but Chris went all monster truck and four-wheeled us out over a curb and possibly some landscaping.)

When we got down to the beach, I was nearing desperation. We set up small sabikis with shrimp tidbits, and began casting to likely-looking seams. About half an hour later, I started getting tiny taps, and before long, I hooked something. Saying pompano prayers, I reeled it in, and OH HELL YES, it was the target species. 

So thank you Dom. On a side note, that is the most hateful look I have ever seen Chris give. I am certain this is the look he gives students who don’t pay attention, and it gives me chills. I can only presume he hadn’t gotten a pompano yet.

Seriously. I take one look at this and want to apologize, and I don’t even know for what.

Fortunately, everybody got a pompano at some stage that afternoon.

Gerry’s fish, handsomely photographed.

I kept casting and got a few more pompano, and then a small miracle occurred. I got an elongate grunt – another new (and completely unexpected) species.

 

The elongate grunt. Chris also got one, but The Mucus did not, and as immature as this will sound, I was delighted. This was lifetime species number 2118 for me.

  

The gang poses for a selfie. Chris must have caught the pompano by now, because the hateful look is gone. Gerry is smiling because 24 hours had passed without him developing dysentery.

I also caught a gulf grunion, a species I had caught but misidentified on my first Penasco trip, so it was good to get a photo upgrade and an ID clarification. While I was content with two for the trip, Gerry had quietly added 15 – so nice work!

 

I got my first one of these on the “Marching Band From Hell” trip in 2015.

And with those 10 golden seconds, we closed out the fishing year and headed back to Phoenix. Gerry and I flew out the next morning, and we were all off to our respective holiday seasons. Of course, no Thanksgiving is complete without the Michigan/Ohio State football game – perhaps the ultimate confrontation of good vs. evil. (And yes, Marta, and most of my friends, relatives, therapists, and neighbors think I take this game too seriously, but we’re talking good vs. evil here, so there is no such thing as “too seriously.”)

Happily, good prevailed. Resoundingly, because evil can’t defend the run.

 

And a merry if belated Christmas 2022 to everyone.

While it was a quiet and beautiful holiday, there was planning afoot for a January trip that was certain to be memorable and hopeful to be epic. The first fish I would catch in 2023 would be 10,257 miles from home – pull out your globes and make your guesses, and we’ll tell you the whole story in about two weeks.

Steve