The Quest for the Costa Rica Sailfish

Not sure if it was the calling of the howler monkeys or the steady buzz of the alarm clock at 5:30 AM that jostled me from my slumber. However, I do know that once I opened my eyes, the anticipation of the fishing day ahead was enough to catapult me out of bed and into the kitchen where I promptly flipped the switch on the Krups. Ten minutes and one cup of Cafe Britt Tarrazu later, I was sporting my lucky Costa Rica sailfish t-shirt and Columbia fishing shorts.

My gal pal and reluctant fishing “partner in crime” was seated in a chair on the balcony as she stuffed an assortment of sunscreens, lipsticks, cameras, gum, Dramamine, kleenex (perhaps in case we caught a fish so big, we cried) and granola bars into her pink backpack. Christy and I both went through a complete checklist of everything we thought we needed to survive a day on the open sea. If we didn’t have it, we would live without it. Our trusty guide, Juan Carlos, was anxiously waiting in his pick up truck outside.

Managing to somehow get by with my elementary Spanish skills, I asked Juan Carlos to relay a few recent fish stories from the Gulf of Papagayo… Sailfish, Marlin, Mahi, or Roosterfish. It really didn’t matter. As his truck chattered down the gravel road towards the bay, he gave us the “locals” report regarding a few of the targeted species. Just as he finished, the truck rolled into a roped off lot that bordered a black volcanic sand beach. We had arrived at Ocotal!

The clock was ticking. A half-day charter didn’t give us much time to get down to the business of battling a gamefish. We anxiously hustled aboard the 35-foot sportfishing vessel and took a seat on a white cushioned bench behind the fighting chair. Our friendly Costa Rican mate started to introduce himself just as a large, black puff of diesel exhaust shot out from the stern. He explained that we were headed Northwest to waters just south of the Nicaraguan border.

For the next 45 minutes, the mate scurried around the boat preparing the baits, lines and outriggers. Once we were a good 20 miles from shore, the lines went in and out of the water as we switched from artificials to live bonita and then back again. The farther out we went, the deeper cobalt blue the water became. Massive dark igneous rock formations jutted out of the water and waves lashed high against their sides. The seagulls quickly flocked to the tallest tips of the rocks to escape a harsh licking from the sea.

I looked down at my lucky sailfish shirt. “Don’t fail me now,” I thought. After all, we had been scanning the open water for quite awhile now with no sign of action. Suddenly, the starboard outrigger snapped. I looked over at Christy whose eyes were the size of saucers as she shouted at me, “it’s all yours!” The mate simultaneously yelled up to the Captain using unintelligible Spanish phrases and then jumped to assist me with a gimble belt. I grabbed the rod and reeled as fast as my sunscreen slathered arms would let me. Within seconds I felt the line go slack as the huge fish swam towards the boat. “Keep pressure on him, keep pressure on him,” the mate dutifully reminded me. Just as I pulled the rod back to keep the line taught, a long sharp bill shot out of the water and the sail was air born. Sweat poured down the sides of my face and neck (whoever said women don’t perspire, they “glisten,” has obviously never caught a billfish) while I did everything in my power to maintain a solid grip on the rod.

Twenty minutes and two acrobatic jumps later, the fish had finally tired enough to be pulled towards the boat. Following the mate’s directives, I shuffled backwards as he reached down, grabbed the leader, and lifted the Pacific prize aboard the boat for a photo opportunity.

Once Christy snapped a few quick shots with the camera, the mate eased my catch carefully down off the side of the boat. We all watched as the beautiful fish hardly took a moment to recover and shoot back out into the depths. The grin would not be wiped off my face for anything… not that day or for three weeks after.

Thinking we had pretty much max’ed out on our fishing luck, Christy and I sat back down on the bench and took a few gulps of Gatorade. The boat had now turned around and was headed back in the direction of Ocotal; however, the mate was determined to make the most of the time we had left (and it was greatly appreciated). He tossed out a few mahi lures and within minutes we were hooked up again! Christy grabbed a rod and caught her first mahi (the largest of the three we caught that day).

So, it was that the quest for the Costa Rican sail (and a few bonus mahi) had come to an end, but the memories and fish tales would last a lifetime. An extra special thanks to our Tico friends who helped make the trip possible. Pura Vida!