Cuba

Like I’ve said, all the guides are extremely competitive. Just as we make little bets about who will catch the first fish, the biggest fish, etc., I’m pretty sure the guides make similar bets amongst themselves about us. Did Coki win some bet for helping me land my first tarpon? I don’t know for certain but it wouldn’t surprise me.

I’ve also mentioned how passionate Coki is about the fishing. If you screw up, he’ll let you know. He can’t help it. He figures it’s his job to get you to the fish and then it’s your job to catch the damn things. And he’s right, of course.

Yesterday was an extremely frustrating day. Cam and I had paired up with Coki as our guide. So far everybody on the boat except for Cam has caught a tarpon. So just as Coki poured all his efforts the other day into getting me my first tarpon, he assured Cam in the morning that he was going to catch a tarpon.

But we were having one of those off days when no matter what you do or where you go, the fish just are not there. Cam and I fished all morning long and didn’t even see a fish. I’d stand up on the nose of the boat for half an hour or forty-five minutes, my line slack at my feet, and when I got tired, I’d switch places with Cam and he’d do the same. Hardly a cast was made.

The afternoon wasn’t any better. Plus it was even hotter than usual out on the water, with not even a hint of a breeze, and by four or five we both sort of felt like we’d had enough and were ready to head back to Avalon I. But Coki was not ready to give up. He insisted that he knew a “secret spot,” somewhere the other guides didn’t know about and for sure we would catch some bonefish and then he would take us to another great spot and for sure Cam would get his tarpon.

Well, what could we do? We headed for Coki’s secret spot. With the sun just blazing down on top of us, we headed east through the mangroves until we got to a section of shallows covered in turtle grass. It would be difficult to spot fish in the turtle grass but the area certainly did look ripe for bonefish.

Cam got up on the nose of the skiff and stood there under the blistering sun as Coki poled through the shallows. For half an hour he poled the boat and we didn’t see a single fish. Then finally he spotted a small school about a hundred feet in front of us. The only problem was that the bones were in water that was no more than a foot deep and the tide was going out. But Coki was not to be denied. He poled and he poled, grunting and sweating, sometimes getting the skiff stuck in the muddy bottom and we would rock the boat from side to side until we were free and moving again. Finally, the boat would go no further. It was too shallow. The bones were still there but it would take some tremendous casting by Cam to reach them. He tried, and tried, and tried some more but he could never quite get the fly far enough. And eventually the school swam away.

Meanwhile, the tide had continued to go out. We were now so stuck in the shallow water that Coki had to get out of the boat in his bare feet and, sinking midway to his thighs, try to push us out. But it was no go. So Cam go out as well and with him on one side of the boat and Coki on the other, the two of them tromped through the muddy bottom pushing the boat while I stood as far on the nose of the skiff as possible to get the stern out of the mud. It was tremendously difficult work. And we had to go much further than anyone had imagined. In all, Coki and Cam pushed the skiff over the shallow muddy bottom for fifteen or twenty minutes until we were finally in deep enough water to get back in the boat. At which point Cam said he didn’t care about any more fishing for the day, he was going for a swim. He stripped down to his boxers and dove into the water, floating on his back like a turtle in the cool, clear water. We were done for the day.

I mentioned yesterday how, while fishing for tarpon, I ended up catching a 15 pound red snapper. We threw it in the hold on top of the ice cooling down our beers and brought it back to the Avalon and gave it to the cook, Eduardo, who looks like he’s not old enough to shave yet alone be a great cook. You know, when we fished from the Halcon I always thought our cook on that boat, Pichi, was a fine cook but Eduardo puts him to shame. So far on this trip we’ve had the best meals we’ve ever had anywhere in Cuba. Lobster every night, sometimes cooked simply with a little garlic butter, sometimes in a curry sauce, and always there is some whole grilled fish, and we have had excellent soups and sashimi and a marvelous roasted lentil dish in a spicy red sauce.

Anyway, when we got back to the Avalon the other night all the other boys were topside drinking their gin and tonics and talking about the day’s fishing. I came up the stairs carrying the large red snapper by one hand, holding it up for them to see. “Look what I brought us back for dinner,” I said. Everyone got their cameras out to take some shots of me holding the snapper and then I gave it to Suliet to take down to the galley to Eduardo.

A couple of hours later, Suliet announced that dinner was ready and we headed for the large teak table where we take our meals and then Eduardo came out carrying a silver platter with my grilled red snapper on it. I can’t tell you how pleased I was. I cut into it and took the first filet and then passed it around. Suliet poured us all a glass of Chilean Sauvignon Blanc and Fletch made a toast to the great day of fishing we had and then everyone dove in to the red snapper. It was, without a doubt, the finest fish I’d ever tasted in my life. Perhaps because I’d caught it myself just a few hours earlier, perhaps because Eduardo really does know his way around seafood. Anyway, it was a most memorable meal following a most memorable day of fishing.

Yesterday afternoon as Keko was polling our skiff through some mangroves he spotted a jutia sitting on a branch a few feet above the water watching us. A jutia is a fairly large rodent that is a hell of a lot cuter than a rat. They used to exist all over Cuba but then people who weren’t getting enough protein in their diet started catching them and cooking them in pots with wilds nuts and honey. You have to cook a jutia for a day or so to make it edible and there’s not a lot of meat on it when you’re done, but I guess if you’re hungry enough, you’ll do it.

Anyway, Keko pointed out the jutia and I asked him to pole closer to the mangrove so I could get a good photo of it. He poled right up to the little guy who was only a few feet from us, staring intently at us at eye level. That’s when the bugger made a leap for the boat and landed against Keko’s leg. Which, shall we say, did not exactly thrill Keko. I’ve never heard a Cuban fishing guide scream like a little girl until that jutia brushed up against Keko’s leg.

Keko used the end of his long fiberglass pole to swat at the jutia, knocking it into the water. The jutia began dogpaddling away from the skiff. But although he seemed to be a pretty efficient swimmer, he wasn’t moving very quickly and Keko jabbed at him a couple of times, pushing him farther away from the boat. Every time he’d connect, the jutia would squeak and bark in displeasure. I was starting to feel sort of sorry for it, though I was glad that Keko had knocked it out of the boat.

After awhile, the jutia made it to another mangrove and climbed up on to a limb. He stood there staring at us. As if to say, Mess with me again and I’ll bite your nose off. We moved on.

Later in the day we stopped at a little island where the guides sometimes bring fishermen for lunch. Keko said the animals on the island—mostly iguanas and jutias—would come around when they saw people, hoping to get some scraps from the leftover sandwiches and apples and such. Sure enough, it wasn’t two minutes after we pulled the boat on to the sandy beach that first an iguana and then a jutia came right up to us, looking for a handout. Nick, our wild animal nut, got the jutia to stand on his leg staring right into the camera while he dangled a crust of bread a foot above the ground. He snapped a couple of pics, the jutia grabbed the crust, and sat there cautiously looking at us out of the corner of his eye while nibbling on his free meal. Then the iguanas started to show up. And another jutia. And then some large birds landed nearby and a big crab waddled up. At this point I was kind of getting the creeps. Like all the wild animals on the island were going to come over looking for a handout and when we ran out of food, there’d be a riot. We’d have to fight off the iguanas and jutias and god knows what else. I think Keko was having the same thought because he broke off a handful of bread crusts and tossed them down the beach. As the animals went scampering after the food, he said, “Come on! Hurry! Let’s go now!”

We ran down the beach to the skiff, got in and shoved off. The iguanas and jutias glared at us. We glared back.

A couple of months ago Fletch sent me an e-mail with a photo attached of Nick, down in Mexico, grinning with a big boa constrictor wrapped around his neck. Nick had found the snake in the jungle surrounding the Fletcher’s home in Custodio, north of Puerto Vallarta. Nick is one of those guys that isn’t bothered by things that crawl or bite or sting. His first thought on coming across the five-foot-long boa was to pick it up. Mine would have been to back up slowly and then run.

Yesterday the wind was up in the morning so the boys went diving again. Like I said, I don’t dive. I sleep late, have a nice quiet breakfast, and chat with the guides or read a book. It’s a very enjoyable way to spend the morning. And then the boys all come piling back to the Avalon, full of adrenaline and talking excitedly.

When Fletch came topside, a towel wrapped around his waist, I put down my book and asked them if they’d seen anything interesting on their dive.

“Sort of,” said Fletch, laughing. “We came across a crocodile and Nick went right up to it to take a photo.”

I thought he was joking at first until Nick came up with his underwater camera and showed me the croc. It was good-size. I asked him how close he’d gotten. He said about five or six feet away.

Good lord, I said. You must be crazy. What made you think the croc wouldn’t come after you? I asked him.

He shrugged. “I thought we were okay,” he said. “He looked like an old croc.”

Right. So if the croc is old, he won’t go after you. I don’t know. I think I’d rather wrap a boa constrictor around my neck than swim up to a crocodile. But evidently Nick doesn’t mind doing both.

As we made our way back to Avalon I, we came across Fletch and Nick wading in the shallows. Their guide, Jimmi, was fishing with Nick and Fletch was maybe a hundred or so feet in front of them fishing by himself. It is a thing of beauty to watch Fletch fish, particularly when he is out of the boat and standing in knee-deep water throwing a line sixty or seventy feet. There is an ease in his body and a natural rhythm to his movements that you see in any natural athlete no matter the sport. When he is standing on the nose of a skiff fly-fishing he can sometimes look awkward and stiff, but when he is by himself in the water he is as natural a fisherman as a white egret. Sometimes when I am with him and I am also standing in the shallows fishing, maybe only fifty feet away, I will stop and watch him the way one would stop and watch a great basketball player if they were shooting hoops by themselves on a school-yard lot.

When Jimmi saw us slowly passing by he got on the skiff’s 2-way and had a garbled conversation with Keko. Even if you know Spanish well it is almost impossible to tell what the guides say to each other over the 2-way radios. Maybe they speak in code or perhaps they just have their own separate language, like twin babies. I do not know. I just know no one else can understand them.

After the conversation, Jimmi went running back down the beach, away from us, and Fletch and Nick waded over to our boat. We gave them a hand and they climbed in. Nick said that while he and Jimmi were fishing together a large lobster had scooted by next to their feet and Jimmi had reached down and grabbed it and then stashed it somewhere in the shallows weighted down by some stones. That is why he’d gone running back down the beach. To retrieve the lobster.

We told them how Greg and I had each caught a single bonefish, how they were good size, as good as you could wish for on your first day in the Jardines, and Nick, who had never been saltwater fly-fishing before, told us how he’d hooked a couple of bonefish himself but hadn’t been able to land them. Still, he didn’t seem the least bit upset about it. I think he was happy just to be here fishing with us and to have seen the fish and to have been able to properly get several of them to take the fly. We had only been in the Jardines for a few hours and we had the entire week ahead of us so it was not important whether you caught anything or not today. That would come. For now it was enough just to be out on the water with the fish running and the sun slowly setting off on the horizon.

Fletch had actually caught two bonefish fishing by himself. He’d also seen many tarpon and had hooked three of them but, because of nerves, had held the rod too high and not put the end down on the water as you have to do when the tarpon jump and had lost them. Like Nick, he wasn’t upset about losing the fish either. It was an extraordinary afternoon, the weather as good as one could hope for with almost no wind and there was no need to worry about losing a few fish. It was not important.

Once Fletch and Nick were in the boat with their rods, we pushed off from the shallows and motored along the beach until we saw Jimmi. He waded out to us and handed the lobster he’d caught to Nick. It was a good-sized lobster, missing its antennas, perhaps when Jimmi had caught it or perhaps from the way he’d trapped it afterwards. We motored back to Jimmi’s skiff and Fletch and Nick and Jimmi got out and then, just as the sun was disappearing into the ocean, we all headed back to Avalon I.