Quest for the Costa Rican Sail

by Debbie Hanson

Whether it was the consistent calling of the howler monkeys or the sudden buzz of the alarm clock at 5:30 AM that actually jostled me from my slumber, I wasn’t 100% sure... however, I did know that once I opened my eyes, all the excitement and anticipation of the day ahead was enough to catapult me out of bed and into the kitchen where I promptly flipped the switch on the Krups coffee maker. 10 minutes and one cup of Cafe Britt Tarrazu later, I was already sporting my lucky sailfish t-shirt and Columbia fishing shorts.

My gal pal and reluctant fishing "partner in crime" was seated in a rattan 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 each went through a verbal check list 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, (and the big fish) were waiting.

Managing to somehow gimp 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. Whatever he had time to tell on the brief ride from Playa Del Coco to Ocotal would do. As his pick up truck chattered down the gravel road, he quickly 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 the black volcanic sand beach. We had arrived at Ocotal.

The clock was ticking as we all realized that a half-day charter didn’t give us much time at all to get down to the business of battling a big gamefish. We all anxiously hustled aboard the 35 foot sportfisher and took a seat on the 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. In a fairly good attempt at English, he explained that we were headed Northwest to waters just south of the Nicaraguan border.

For the next half hour to 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 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 power of the ocean was evident as the seagulls 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 to myself. After all, we had been scanning the open water behind the boat for quite awhile with no apparent sign of action. Suddenly, the starboard outrigger snapped. I looked over at Christy who’s eyes were the size of large saucers as she shouted, "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 minutes I felt the line go somewhat 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 completely 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 more 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 then lifted the Pacific prize aboard the boat for a photo opportunity. Best day of my life... so far.

Once Christy snapped a few quick shots with the camera, the mate eased my pelagic catch down off the side of the boat. We all watched as he hardly took a moment to recover and shoot back out into the depths. High fives were slapped all the way around the boat and the perma grin would not be wiped off my face for anything... not that day or for about three weeks after.

Thinking we had pretty much max’ed out on our fishing luck, Christy and I sat back down on the cushioned 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 charter time we had left (which we greatly appreciated). He exhuberantly tossed out a few mahi lures and within minutes we were hooked up again. Christy grabbed a rod and caught her first dorado (the largest of the three we caught that day). The entire time she reeled, I had to cheer her on by yelling, "Go Girl Go!"

So the quest for the Costa Rican sail (and a few bonus mahi) came to an end, but the memories and fish tales would last a lifetime. An extra special thanks to my Tico friends who made the trip possible. Pura Vida!