A Bad Day Fishing

 They weren’t on the boat when we headed for the off shore Mexico fishing grounds last weekend. Our appetites were wetted for catching some great Sierra or an ocean going trout which weigh in at five to seven pounds and strike the lure while trolling at six to seven miles an hour.

 Added to the fun is cooking the filets of the Sierra, wrapped in foil and slow cooked on a barbecue with lemon, onion and some olive oil.

 First we had to catch the fish and we had the perfect lure, a silver and blue Repala jointed in the middle. We knew where the Sierra were hanging out because we has just fished there two days ago and limited out within forty five minutes.

 The Hummer II, our 18 foot runabout built by Bayliner, was a little bit sluggish starting but once warmed up, she took off planing across the Bay of Conception out toward the Sea of Cortez where the best fighting fish in the world were known to run in schools along the shoreline.

 It was a full hour to the fishing spot and we slowed the Hummer II down to trolling speed and had just let out one lure about fifty yards behind the boat. That is when our fishing partner looked down in the bilge and said, “We are taking on water.”

 Clearly the back half of the boat where the motors were, had about four inches of water and it was rising quickly. “And I can see daylight where the drain plug should be,” he continued.

 The shore line was about a half mile and we didn’t wait to reel in the line before gunning the engine to gain speed. The bow of the boat picked up and even more water came in momentarily, however as the nose of the boat went down, the water rushed to the rear and started leaving through the hole where it had come in.

 “Can you plug the hole?” came the question. “Maybe try to shove the cork end of the fishing pole in the drain hole.”

 That was tried and with some success as the water slowed and actually stayed at a manageable rate as the boat cruised at top speed toward the closest land.

 “You know there are a lot of rocks here,” came my wife’s voice and she was right. The shore was lined with rocks which would have made difficult landing.

 We turned around and headed home. It seemed if, we could keep up the speed, the water in the boat did not increase anymore and we even had time to use the bilge pump to remove what was there.

 The gas tank we were using was only half full so instead of letting it completely empty, we switched to a new tank without stopping the boat. The motor didn’t miss a beat fortunately and we raced for home.

 Crossing the ten to fifteen miles seemed like an eternity, but the motor purred and the fear left the women’s eyes as they felt they might really make it home without having to swim to shore. At about 25 miles an hour, it took over a half an hour to cover the distance.

 As soon as our bay was in sight and the deep blue water turned to pale green, we knew we were safe. The motor was lifted so the boat could be run right up on the beach.

 No one was happier than me to feel solid ground underneath our feet. This day fishing will have to go down as one that was worst than spending a day at the office.