Perlas, Panama

 
   
It felt great to be back on our luxury live aboard again. After two months of showing Elsy the cold and craziness of LA and Las Vegas, it was wonderful to return to the natural world of the ocean.  My buddy Greg was with us on this trip to the Perlas, and for the sixty mile run, down to our first diving area, we were blessed with calm, beautiful seas. For this long trip, after our 4 AM wake up, one person drives, two sleep on the floor on mats and we change every hour. With a black tee shirt over my eyes, and the four stroke purring, I can be asleep, dreaming of big fish, in seconds. After leaving the Panama Canal entrance, where 40 ships were waiting their turn, we never saw another boat for four hours.

    This time of year in the Perlas, we should find cold water, sardines and plenty of fish but, as usual, you never get what you expect. It is never the same as the last year or the last trip.  In the Perlas it seems that it is usually one extreme or the other—- cold, dirty water with lots of fish, or, warm, clear water with few fish.  As I get older, I find cold water less and less inviting, so the warm water we encountered on this trip was not all bad. Our first day is usually traveling and recon, and we don’t shoot, but after checking several areas in the 80 degree water, we could tell we would be lucky to find fish.

    During the next couple of days we all finally managed to shoot nice fish and fill the coolers but we covered a lot of ground.  We hunted with two divers in the water, one gun, and a short, ten meter bungee line. The idea was to keep any fish out of the rocks by putting immediate pressure on the fish. It seemed to work great as we lost no spears or fish in the rocks.  In some places, at 25 or 30 feet we would enter this dark, scary layer of suspended gunk that blocked out the light and everything around you. It was so thick that a couple of times, I lost my equilibrium and could not tell which way was up. That was when it was nice to have a short buoy line, so I could grab it and pull to know which way it was to the surface.  That murk layer was much colder and the fish were probably down at 60 or 70 feet, but since they can’t see us, they don’t come up to investigate. As soon as I put my head in the murk, diving down, I started to get uncomfortable knowing that a big shark is a much better predator than I am in such zero visibility conditions. We did in fact see a big fin on the surface while we were in the boat. The fish stayed on the surface and we approached him slowly in the boat within a few feet, until we could see clearly a ten foot single hammerhead shark. I told Greg, being the newest diver, he should jump in the water and check it out, but he declined. It would probably be safe, and I was tempted, but maybe next time, if Michelle will jump in first, as chum.

    Greg and I both shot nice Bohala and the pressure was off for us, but Michelle had yet to score.  I stoned one Bohala and it took forever to get the slip tip out and we were tired of cleaning fish, so I told Michelle not to shoot unless it was bigger than ours. Then, while I was watching from the boat, I saw the Rob Allen float fly ten feet across the surface and —POP—- disappear.  We waited, and waited, and waited, maybe three minutes, and the buoy popped back to the surface and continued moving. Good sign, not in the rocks at 60 to 70 feet, the short bungee was working. Michelle swam to the float and carefully worked up the fish and as soon as she got it to the surface we could see that her big bohala had beat the boys. Michelle was happy with her 56 lb Bohala, another beautiful fish.

    Cleaning big fish is not my favorite part of diving. It is hard work and takes a lot of time and effort to clean a monster, fillet it and bag it up. And usually, it is so hot here that someone has to pour buckets of water on the fish cleaner so he doesn’t have a heat stroke. Michelle had kill-kill fever and wanted to get back in the water and shoot a bigger fish, but the cleaning goes faster if the three of us work as a team. It took us about a half hour and a lot of energy but we finally got it cleaned.  Since we had enough fish and I wanted to dive, not clean fish, the new rule was—only shoot if it is a monster, bigger than the last fish of 56 pounds.

    We decided to go look for a drift line or something floating and check for Dorado or any other game fish. We found a small round log with no fish, but Michelle wanted to see if she could stand or even sit on it. It was impossible, and we learned an entire floating tree works better.  We then found a clump of bamboo floating vertical in the water and extending down about 15 feet.  I thought for sure we would find bait underneath, but I guess it was too new to hold fish. Then we went to an area where we used to always find Pargo but things are never the same twice.  Now the gamefish have been replaced by the fire ants of the ocean—- Jacks——by the thousands. As we dove, we would enter into this vortex of the swirling school of hundreds of these powerful, fast swimming fish all around us. Greg shot a small one, but they are generally not edible and a fish just twice this size can mangle your gear. Because they are such aggressive feeders, seem to have few predators, and are not commercially fished, their numbers are exploding. To keep the Jacks from taking over the world we need a spearo competition here, all entries accepted, one species only.  Who can shoot the most number of jacks in one day, and also, who can cook one up, and make it taste good.  With the way they are proliferating we need a long term solution to the problem.

    However, we then went to another place just a few miles away and found lots of small pargo but no jacks, yet.  The current was screaming and as we flew past a small group of pargo Greg made an incredible long shot and nailed a small but tasty pargo perfectly thru the eyes.. We were going by so fast it was like shooting from a train or doing a drive by with a car. Fun, but easy to miss.

    We had enough fish, and we had enjoyed a great trip, but now I was worried about going into the north wind on the way home.  We traveled to Isla Contadora, for the night, as it is closer, only about forty miles of open ocean to the canal. The next morning it was blowing, but because we did not kill many fish, Neptune must have been pleased, and sent us a marine, police escort for our trip home..  It was in the form of a giant yacht, going at over 20 knots, that traveled in front of us and flattened out the seas so there was no chop or waves.. That boat was a true, luxury live aboard, but it did not get four miles to the gallon and their view from the shower could not compare to Michelle standing on the swim step and showering in the warm sun.

      As we entered the canal and approached the launch ramp we were greeted by giant container ships and a huge new dredge for expanding the canal.  I could sense the relentless, overwhelming growth and technology and the rapid pace of change. I felt like an Indian returning from one of the LAST buffalo hunts. But I am grateful to be part of the tribe that still gets to hunt in its most primitive form, to be one that knows the thrill of the kill, and the satisfaction of bringing home his own food from nature’s bounty. There is nothing better for one’s soul cleansing, purification, re-generation, attitude adjustment, and appreciation for life than spending awe- time in nature on a dive trip. The sunrises, the silence, the stars, the sea life, the surprises and even the shooting, on each trip, each foray into nature, are to be devoured and savored,  knowing—-

                  They will NEVER be the same twice.

Dix and Michelle Roper         .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)   

March 22, 2011