Baja Insider’s  Eco Tales –  A day with the Pangueros

At six thirty the fishermen where already on their panga preparing for the days work.  The morning was warm and there was a mixture of dry desert smells mixed with the scent of decaying fish and the sea.  Gringorio!  José Luis called out, humorously combining the words Gringo and Gregorio.  I jumped on board and seated myself mid-boat and out of the way.  Buenos días hombres! I exclaimed to the pangueros.   

José Luis then poled us through the low tide along the sandy finger behind Alfonsina’s to deeper water.  José then dropped the motor and sparked the outboard into life and we roared off at full speed over the glassy water only to come to a sudden stop moments later near the buoys of a long gill net. 

It was here that we were joined by two fishermen in another panga.  The net was pulled in and the both pangas raced to the fish camp on Isla San Luis Gonzaga.  Piles of nets have always looked to me like a chaotic tangled mess and it’s always amazed me that any sense can be made out of such a pile, but watching José Luis and the other fishermen work the bait fish, which they called carnada, out of the net amazed me.  After about an hour of working the carnada out of the net and throwing them into crates we were on our way north well past Las Islas Encantadas.  After about an hour we arrived at the spot.  José used his GPS, stating this is the place – 26 miles north of Alfonsina’s and about 8 miles off shore. 

Earlier they used a net to catch their bait fish – probably over 500 fish (sardines, I think) in total and split them between the two pangas - but here they were using baited hooks on long lines to fish for bigger prey.  A technique that José Luis called Simbra.  700 hooks placed about 3 meters apart hanging on about 2 meters of line attached to a long mono filament line that stretched well over 300 meters in length. 

The water was flat calm.  The kind of glassy day on the Sea of Cortez that can mislead one into thinking that the Sea is a safe and beautiful place to be.  And so the work began.  José Luis started by systematically placing the bait fish, which he had dexterously cut into pieces on the bumpy ride out, onto a hook then throwing the baited hook overboard while José slowly motored the panga toward the west.  This went on for the two lengths of mono filament line that held the 700 hooks.  Meanwhile, about a mile away, the second panga went through the same routine of baiting and dispensing the hooks. 

Once the long lines were set it was time for breakfast.  Both pangas were brought together, tied with bowlines, and out came the propane stove and skillet.  Eggs were scrambled and tortillas browned.  Accordingly, my quesa dias from the restaurant were reheated and eaten along with everything else.  By then it was about 9:00 a.m.  That would be the last we ate until about 6 p.m. that evening because the days work was only just beginning. 

After breakfast it was time to check the lines.  Each panga raced off to their respective flagged buoys and began the laborious process of hauling in the line.  The first to haul the line in my panga was José.  Hand over hand, meter by meter he hauled in the line.  Right off the bat he pulled in an eel looking creature.  Muy mal he said as he proceeded to rip the hook from its jaws and kick the dying eel overboard.  He indicated that the bite from such an eel is poisonous.   

Hand over hand he continued to draw the line in.  After the eel, most of the hooks came up empty.  It was then that José Luis explained that los lobos (sea lions) usually stole the bait.  We had seen a few nearby, but it wasn’t until later in the afternoon that they really came around.  I have to admit that I was drawn into the excitement of what might come up next on the hook.  A shark?  A giant grouper?  It was like playing the lottery.  Maybe they’d hook a sea turtle.  How would they handle that?  How would I handle that?  I thought knowing that all 5 species of sea turtles found in Mexican waters are endangered and illegal to catch or possess.  

The minutes turned to hours and the only thing coming up on the hooks were a few ‘good’ eels that could be used for bait.  After the first set of two long lines were pulled up the fishermen started over again – rebaiting the hooks and setting the lines.  After the second set turned up bust I began to lose the excitement of what might be on the end of each line.  I was beginning to wonder how accurate the stories of a ‘dying sea’ were (see story  )   …  Where was the bounty that the fishermen of yore used to take for granted?   

By this time the sea lions were gathered in full force.  Maybe 8 to 10 of them were nimbly snatching the bait off the hooks without hooking themselves.  Most hooks were now coming up empty - no bait and no fish.  At one point José Luis took his spear and expertly thrust it into one of the sea lions that was attempting to steal the bait.  He explained It doesn’t hurt them, but scares them off so we can catch our fish. 

It was the second to last set that proved the most profitable for the fishermen:  Two bright orange vaqueta were pulled up by José.  These fish appeared to be a species of sea bass.  José Luis explained to me that a good day would have given them two vaqueta with each set.  In all, for over 10 hours work José Luis and José pulled in five fish, 3 ‘good’ eels, 1 ray, two ‘bad’ eels, one starfish, and hooked one sea lion.  That with 700 hooks set eight times. 

José Luis simply stated El mar esta pobre hoy.  The sea is poor today. 

As we motored back to Bahia Gonzaga the sun was nearing the western horizon and the intensity of the long effort was seeping away.  It had been a long, hot, grueling day and all I had done was take photos and ask questions.  For José Luis and José, this was just one of many difficult days they spend on the Sea of Cortez earning a living as artisanal fishermen.  They would be heading back to sea on their panga the next morning at sunrise. 

The next evening while I worked on my notes I heard the distant roar of pangas approaching Alfonsina’s.  I somehow knew it was José Luis and José.  I stepped onto the beach and watched as the pangas raced over the blue water from the east, from the direction of Punta Final.  Instead of going to the west side of Alfonsina’s to unload their catch the pangas raced straight toward the beach where I stood.  In no time José Luis drove his panga onto the sandy beach, stopping right at my bare feet exclaiming Gringorio!   

He was eager to show me the days catch, so much better than to day before.  In particular, he wanted to show me the tiburon they had caught - an 8 foot long ‘tiburon zorro’ - known in English as a thresher shark.  I took photos as José and José Luis proudly showed me the days catch in the pangas hold.