A Jurubida Colombia Salt Water Fishing Day

The Still Sleeping Fishing Village of JurubidaWe needed some bait, so we jigged light lines
Dawn broke about 5:30 am. For the first time inwith three dropper hooks twenty feet or so
days, there wasn't pounding rain, unusual for thedown. Results were immediate and we pulled four
Choco, one of the wettest regions in the world.inch long baitfish in by twos and threes for the
Instead, a lazy pink glow began growing in thenext hour. Then, apparently noticing the
eastern sky above the rainforest behind the stillcommotion, predator schools of long-snouted
sleeping fishing village of Jurubida on Colombia'sChampeta moved in and we were now pulling in
Pacific coast. Almost all the fishermen had longedible game fish. Then it got even more fun as
since braved the waves of the incoming tide andsaw-toothed Sierra now moved in after the
headed out into the arms of the Pacific Ocean.Champeta and other baitfish. These tended to be
Sometimes fishermen like Heriberto*, never comesmaller than we normally caught trolling, but were
back, locked in the sea's embrace forever. Hisa pan-sized pound or two pounds. We rode out
wife still waits to this day for news that will likelythe flurries of action and lulls for more than two
never come. The sea doesn't like to give up itsadditional hours before moving on, trolling to the
secrets, you see.next couple of spots. Shouted conversations with
Gliding across the glazed surface of the Jurubidaother fishermen guided us to a large swale of
River, I glanced over at the simple houses thatmixed bag predators and other game fish.
lined the shore. They were mostly wood andMy Penn Reel Sings
Cana Brava construction, typical of the region.My Penn reel sang as something different grabbed
The materials were relatively cheap, readilymy scared live baitfish. My rod tip bowed until it
available and the most weather-resistant of thenearly touched the water.
regions nearly forty feet of rain annually."What is that?" asked Pepe.
Looking for a Passage through the WavesI fought the fish to the surface and Pepe's son
My neighbor and local fishing guide, Pepe slid thewhistled in astonishment. The fat, three-foot long
wooden launch back and forth across the shallowscaramel-colored eel surprised me too. Fatter than
of the incoming waves, left and right, looking formy forearm, it was in a foul mood to boot.
a passage through the waves to the open sea."We have to kill it right away" warned Pepe in his
Pausing the outboard for a few seconds at oneexcitement.
point, he then suddenly throttled up, breakingNot only was it a line-tangling menace, but the
through a low-riding wave front and we wereteeth made it far too dangerous to be safely
free of the incoming tide's onslaught. Not moreboated without first dispatching the creature with
than ten minutes across the blue green watersa couple of quick machete blows to serve the
low swells, we dropped in 40 lb. test mono trollingspine just behind the head. The cold, emotion-less
homemade stainless steel spoons with wireeyes said nothing of its thoughts or intentions,
leaders for saw-toothed Sierra. It didn't take longeven after death. I'd no sooner bagged it and
for the first connection which violently jerkedre-cast when its even larger mate again set my
Pepe's arm backwards, partly spinning him aroundreel to singing.
at the helm. He pulled in the first hit of the dayLater action on the part of all netted us more
hand-over-hand, swinging the silver cigar-shapedthan 50 fish, including several beautiful
predator into our 16-foot locally-carved woodenyellow-finned "Bobos", before we called it an early
launch. Half a dozen fish later the action slowedday and headed back to port. By now it was
and we moved on, circling the group of morrowsnearly 11:00 am and the sun was starting to take
just over two miles off Jurubida's shoreline. Theits toll. It never clouded up all morning and the
thousands of sea-going birds that inhabitedtropical sun can fry you like a piece of bacon if
Morrow Pelau complained noisily at our disturbanceyou're not careful. By 11:30 were back in Jurubida,
flying low across the waters where theyfish divided up amongst the three of us and
themselves fished.fish-cleaning, for a fresh seafood lunch, was
We anchored half an hour later on an underseaalready underway. We had enjoyed yet another
plain about 60 feet deep.successful, typical fishing day in the tropical
Bottom Fishing for Roaming Schoolswaters off Colombia's Pacific coast. The region is
"Lets bottom fish for roaming schools" Ione of abundance in its extensive variety of flora,
suggested.fauna and sea life. I marched triumphantly into the
Pepe reluctantly agreed. Were it up to him, we'dkitchen but was stopped short. They were
troll the whole outing. But gas prices had shot upeverywhere.
and a day of trolling would be a costly one.They Were Everywhere
Better, I thought, to troll between fishing spots,Mud-covered legs were scurrying all over the
then let my Penn reel do its work. There wereplace. Scratching, clawing and climbing over any
actually three of us in the launch, Pepe'sseeming obstacle.
early-twenties son was also along for the Day."Where in the heck did all these come from?" I
Mute from birth, he had a sign language systemasked my wife Doris. Looking up at me with
worked out so almost everyone in the villagesaddened eyes, she said, "They accidentally got
"understood" him when he "spoke".out".