Isla Mujeres and the Angry Seas

Isla Mujeres and the Angry Seas

The seas were angry that day my friends-George Costanza

By all indications it was going to be a banner day.  And, for all intents and purposes, it was... but sometimes you get more than you bargain for.

    We were up at 6:00 A.M. and Brent had woken up even earlier and had a custom breakfast ready for us on the table including Mexican fry bread, eggs, and coffee.  “Whoh! Thanks Brent.”  He wasn’t even going fishing with us today. He had sacrificed his spot on the boat for the benefit of his guests. He had even found a good fishing boat for us and his wife Nancy had paid the required deposit.  

    As you may have guessed, the Mason’s are renowned for their generosity and hospitality.  Lucky for us we were under their good graces at  Casa de Mason.

Tamra chillin on the beach in front of Casa de Mason

     We were staying at the Mason family house in Puerto Morelos Mexico and had been leisurely enjoying our Christmas vacation bouncing nonchalantly between the beach, Puerto Morelos itself, and their lovely beach house.  On this day though we were ready for more.  What might have been construed as a mild-case of ambition had us up early.  We had plans.

    The cab took us right to the ferry terminal, we bought our round-trip tickets and soon we were speeding across the choppy waters at close to forty knots on a very impressive ferry boat.  We arrived shortly after 8 A.M.

     “Roger?”

    “Si, I’m Roger.”  Roger was a short stocky Mexican man with leathery brown skin and weathered lines on his face.  He immediately struck me as someone who had spent his whole life on the water.  Good. We were to meet him at the dock and we were pleased to see that the Lilly M was indeed a legit fishing boat.  It was about thirty five feet long with a covered cab and nice lines above and below water.  There was everything on board needed for big game sport fishing and not much else.  Two twenty foot outriggers were lashed tightly to the starboard and port rails and four heavy duty rods were neatly tucked into their holders in the center of the aft deck.  Just then another man approached and took the conversation from Roger. Roger's English was barely discernible and he was more than happy to bow-out and go about his boat captain duties.

    “Hi guys, I’m Jeff.” He was an American and judging from the ensuing exchange we quickly deduced that if he wasn’t the owner of the boat himself, he had to be some kind of manager. It was clear that there were other boats in his charge too, in fact he left with a different boat shortly after talking with us.   “I’m going to level with you.  It’s smoking rough out there today.  It’s been blowing for days now and it’s not supposed to let up until Tuesday.”  He went on to outline our options:  “If you don’t want to go out in the rough stuff, I totally understand and you could cancel altogether or you could reschedule for another day. Also, if you want to, you could fish in-shore where it's more protected for smaller game fish namely barracuda. Whatever you guys want to do is fine with me.”

     Smoking rough.  I know a little about judging rough water and it can be somewhat subjective but smoking rough?  I know that one person’s rough water is another’s walk-in-the-park but what was this smoking rough? 

“What do you mean rough?” asked Mike. “Are we talking chop, swell, breakers?”

      “.....Yeah all of that.  It’s probably 4 to 6 foot seas...or more.”  

    “Four to six?  That’s what he calls smoking rough?” I thought. We talked about it among the six of us and weighed our options.  Among our crew was myself and Corey,  Mike Parker and his son Ben, Brian Gornick and Naomi Decharmes.  The only female on board Naomi had distinguished herself early-on by wearing an old trucker’s ball cap that read “Shut up and Fish” in bold letters so we knew what her vote would be.

    I threw out another option.  “We could bag the fishing, rent some carts and fart around the island.”  

    Isla Mujeres is a small island located about 8 miles off of the Yucatan coast.  It is 4 miles long and just under a half of a mile wide.  The streets are chock full of gift shops, restaurants, snorkel shops and the like.  Interesting Mexican architecture and rich colors bring the island to life along with the crowded streets of people. Golf carts and mopeds are the chief modes of transportation here and although we agreed that it would be fun to scoot around the island, in the end, for better-or-worse we decided to tempt fate.

    “Okay, we want to go out Jeff.” Roger and his deckhand Juan exchanged dubious expressions before ushering us aboard.  No one knew what the expressions meant, but we all caught it, and no one asked.  

    “Okay let’s go.”  Roger motioned us onto the Lilly M. The boat was fully outfitted in anticipation of our group and and soon enough we were making our way passed all the docks and the beautiful white sandy beaches around the corner and into the deeper, unprotected waters of the Caribbean.

    My big concern for for the boys.  I didn’t want the two boys (fourteen and eleven) to have a bad experience.  After explaining the options to them including details about the possibility of enduring a certain level of misery they still wanted to go.  We told Roger that we wanted to fish out deep but if it got too rough we wanted to come in closer to try our hand at catching barracuda.  We all were willing to endure at least some misery in the rougher waters for in our hearts we are all fishermen and today we would position ourselves for one of the great gamefish of the world.  Today we would hunt the great sailfish.

    As was to be expected the seas worsened steadily as we got further out.  It became difficult to remain seated so I positioned my feet as wide as possible as the boat pitched and rolled over the giant waves.  I kept looking for the 4 to 6 foot seas Jeff mentioned and they were not to be found.  As a fairly seasoned commercial fisherman of over 34 years and in the spirit of throwing out a conservative number I put us at steady 10 to 12 foot waves with a few 14 and 15's thrown in for good measure.  Yes sir. 
I was seated back-to-back with Corey.  “You okay Bub?”  This would be Corey’s first trial in the big stuff and I wanted to assure that he was okay.  I knew that we could pull the plug whenever we wanted to.  A hasty retreat into calmer waters and little barracuda fishing wouldn’t be a bad day at all.

    “I’m fine dad.  Stop asking me that.”  Okay.

Juan with his back to us skirted around the stern section of the boat gracefully as if it were second nature.  He was rigging up.  His shirt read No Pain No Gain and as the giant waves rolled us up and over we watched him lower the down the outriggers to the side, baited a series of hooks with 10 inch silvery, stinky bait fish and got us fishing proper. As much as we might have wanted to be more of the process we were all too busy holding on and keeping our balance to be of any help to Juan who seemed to be in his element and probably wouldn't accept help anyhow.

    When the Lilly M crested the waves the fading line of buildings on Isla Mujeres were visible in the far distance but when she slid back down into the deep troughs we were surrounded by big blue walls of rolling water.

    “Dad I’m going to Puke.”  I grabbed his arm and helped him to the gunwale where he did indeed puke his guts out. I held on to him hard so he wouldn't be pitched overboard. There would be more barfers today but Corey earned the distinction of being first. And then as soon as it started it was over and Corey looked up at me with a few chunks on his chin.”I feel better now.”

     Just then Juan became animated because one of the poles was bending and twitching.  “Who is fishing? Rapido, rapido!”

    “Come on Corey.  Are you up for it?” I asked.  Corey had pulled paper/scissor/rocks with Ben for first fish.  Corey had won and he was smart to jump on his opportunity. 
 “Yeah I want to do it.”  I helped him to the back of the boat and Juan snapped on the fighting belt. Corey came alive and worked the rod like a pro. I took video of it and after watching it you would never guess that only moments before it was filmed he was doubled over losing his breakfast. Corey fought hard and handily won his battle with the first fish of the day:  It was a five foot sail fish!    

    In the end we did bail out and retreat to calmer waters but not before Brian landed a 7 footer and Ben brought in a beautiful Mahi Mahi  And also, not before most of our crew wretched their guts overboard too.  To their credit both of the boys barfed but neither complained, sulked, or whined and both rose to the occasion to land nice fish!  We all suffered a bit as discussed but we persevered.  Just like Juan’s shirt: No pain no gain. 

Barracuda fishing was nothing less than hot as well.  We all caught nice ones and the boys each caught a second.  In truth we could have stayed a bit longer to catch more but as a crew we all agreed: we were done.

Hungry Pelicans waiting for scraps

Corey and Ben posing with some of the catch.
We released both sail fish, ate the Dorado
and donated the barracuda to the locals

Corey, Brian, and Naomi

Naomi with her signature hat and smile.

Corey on the colorful streets of Isla Mujere

 

The Mahi Mahi or Dorado, as it is commonly called, is a delicious fish and made for wonderful ceviche the next day at Case de Mason.

   

Becoming the 12th Man

     Becoming the 12th Man

Corey striking a pose.  Only 94 steps to go!

     As I sat there trying to absorb it all, I came to a realization.  I was really enjoying this!  It was Sunday and alongside the massive fanfare, build-up, and hoopla expected of such events I found myself fully engaged in what might be considered the greatest spectacle of the American cultural experience.  That’s right we were at a professional football game.  Go Seahawks!

        I might be considered a strange lass in the fact that, although I played sports including a little football in my high school days I never got into following any college or pro sports after that in any way.  Playing sports is fun.  Watching sports on T.V.…meh.

     We don’t have cable, dish, or direct T.V. at home and haven’t for years but even when we did I never found sports interesting enough to follow.   I always ended up flipping to some cooking show or the history channel much to the chagrin of my family.  I’m kind of an anti-T.V. guy now.  I find it to be an incredible time-suck.  Without crawling too high on my box of soap I feel that life is too short to be spent on a couch absorbing and observing other people’s creativity and work in lieu of making my own.  I am reminded of Pink Floyd’s timeless lyric “52 channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from…to choose from….to choose from.”  I know....strange lass.

     Although for me T.V. is out, one would have to be dead or in a coma to not be aware of the degree to which pro sports has embedded itself into the very fibers of the collective American psyche.  Sometimes I am amazed at how pro football, in-particular dominates the news feeds all year long, even in the off season.   You can’t escape it.  Many of the my friends and family are devout football fans and some are even fantasy football gurus as well.  As an observer from the outside of this“football mania” I realize that I can’t identify with it much but I can appreciate it for what it is.  Football makes a lot of people happy.  Football is entertainment.

       69,000 people packed Century Link field on this fine Sunday afternoon including my kids Corey, Hazelee and my wife Tamra.  My lovely and kind hearted wife was the chief facilitator of this whole vacation including the Seahawks tickets.  Although only five rows of seats were higher than us we couldn’t have be happier or more engaged.  I was surprised how well we could see the game from so high up.  

My lovely wife

     As it turned out the Seahawks handily dispatched the Cleveland Browns much to the dismay of the the few and proud dog pound members (Brown’s fans) in attendance.  One of them was seated next to Corey and was wearing a full Brown’s superhero suit including a cape.  Each time they scored a touchdown (once) he would throw fake 1 dollar bills into the air with his right hand and hold up real twenties with his left.  I think he left with a lot of money in his pockets.

     Truth-be-told it was an amazing spectacle to behold: the deafening roar of the crowd (12th man), the multiple jumbo-tron screens, the amazingly talented blue thunder band, the beautiful cheerleaders in their little Santa outfits, the incredible food and beer…and yes the talented professional athletes putting it all on the line made for a memory not soon forgotten. Great entertainment.  Nothing on T.V. could possibly be this good.

On the train going to the game

Century Link

Pre-game hair coloring

Weird Wild Kahiltna

    “Woah.”  We had stopped in front of the Kahiltna River. Not because we wanted to, but because things just weren’t right. The water flowing in front of us was unabashed and undeterred.  Instead of a nice hard-packed trail leading across to the other bank, the river was wide open.  Apparently it never got the memo about you-know...winter.

River crossing anyone?

     Just then I noticed a man snowshoeing along the far bank.  “Hey look that must be Ed on the other side.”  He waved to us and then motioned down river several times.  I quickly figured out that there must be a safe crossing down river.  Ed had to have gotten over there somehow.

    We followed his trail downriver a mile or so until we found his crossing spot.  Sure enough it was the only safe spot to cross for miles around and he had it marked with survey tape and he had made faint snow machine tracks on the ice to follow.  After we crossed the river we continued to follow the barely-discernible tracks along the edge of the river.  The frozen edges of the river were our only path up river along the bank.  The tracks weaved around and dangerously close to open leads.  The Kahiltna is a roaring, glacial fed river and is not one to be trifled with.

    “Hi Ed.”  Ed was snowshoeing back to his snow machine when we caught up with him.  I knew exactly what he was up to.  He was meticulously testing his route by way of snowshoe and careful observance.

    “Who’s that?”

   “It’s Steve Harrison.”  There was a pause.

  “Steve, what the heck are you doing out here?”  I was glad that he remembered me.  I didn’t want to come across as a couple of yay-hoo’s lost in the woods.  Dad and I were simply trying to get to the cabin.

    This marks the 7th year that we have been passing this way.  For years and years we always ran our snow machines to the cabin from Deshka Landing in Willow.  I discovered the run from Amber Lake (accessible from Oilwell road in Petersville) is much shorter and offers several distinct advantages.  For one it's warmer and we don't have to run 50 miles of river constantly negotiating overflow and open leads. This new way leads us to the Kahiltna crossing near Ed Ellis’s mining camp.

     Ed has six kids.  I have taught all of them in P.E class at Susitna Valley High.  Small world.

   “We’re headed to the cabin.”  I told him.  We made small talk and eventually picked our way up river with him to the normal crossing area.  We said our goodbyes and began breaking trail to the cabin; another fifteen miles yet.  

    As is par-for-the-course, we had a brilliant time at the cabin. We packed down our normal trails and cooked some pretty fabulous cuisine.  In the video dad is tending to the bacon and beans on the woodstove while the curry chicken is sizzling on the stove. The diced peppers, onions, and carrots are waiting their turn on the counter. This is how we roll. Life is too short for Mountainhouse and granola bars.

    Imagine our surprise on Sunday when we returned to the Kahilna to find that the water had risen considerably.  No longer was is safe to scuttle down the side of the river on Ed’s forsaken trail.  It had washed out. After carefully checking out all options we decided to back-track, cut through the woods and hopefully pop over the bank near Ed’s crossing.  

     In the end it was the right decision because we were able to make it through the thick woods and over the bank.  It took plenty of time and effort to do so and I had to use my winch and chainsaw to coerce forward progress at times but at no time were we frustrated or disgruntled.  As it turned out it was an exercise in problem solving and decision making and these are the things that make life interesting and rewarding.   It took us six and a half hours to get home this time but we were okay with it.  Sometimes you get to drive straight to the cabin and back without incident, other times it doesn’t quite work out that way.  

    After safely crossing we checked in with Ed to make sure that he was  safe.  He told us that he was worried about us too because he knew of the deteriorating condition of the river.  

    It was good to connect with him and I found out during the course of our conversation that he has discovered opals in the Kahiltna!  They are called jelly opals and they are the first opals found in Alaska!  Ed and his wife Anne run the Diamond Gold Corporation and spend their time mining gems in the Kahiltna and the Yenlo hills.  I’m looking forward to checking out their gem store the next time I pass through.  Anne handed me a brochure with a website link detailing their efforts.  Check it out at www.diamondgoldcorporation.com

Another trailer casualty on the Yentna this year.