Catching fish & some rays in the Panama Canal
By Panama Red
The day began before sunrise as Michael and I met to drive up thru Gamboa Rain Forrest to Gamboa Landing. There we met up with Capt. Ovido, our guide for the day. He pilots a 19 ft. fiberglass fishing boat stocked with everything we needed for the whole day. Capt. Ovido has been navigating these waterways for over 35 years in every size craft imaginable from a dugout teak canoe to a supertanker.
The early rays of the sun were glittering across the water as we set forth on our angling adventure. Gliding across what looked like liquid mercury, passing by a flock of yawning pelicans as we went under the Gamboa Landing Bridge and into open water of the Canal proper. As we headed North past the Black Knight Lighthouse, the 90-horse Yamaha outboard purred its way past many channel markers and buoys, Michael told tales of his swashbuckling days as a carefree bachelor in the Eighties, when he had the fastest ski boat at either end of the Canal. “Fish all morning, siesta away the midday, load the boat with contraband & a topless crew then ski past sunset, party and carry on until its time to go fishing again. Those were the days my friend, those were the days.”
As we passed Frijoles Point, where the recent dredging efforts curtail and the water begins to turn from grey to green, we encountered our first large ship, a freighter from Santiago, Chile. You never realize how massive those things are till you pass by one in a small vessel. Periodically along the banks you can catch glimpses of natives and their primitive huts constructed of wood and thatch.
While approaching Barro Colorado Island, the sometimes choppy water smoothes out. This pristine 3600 acre island is now owned by the Smithsonian Institute and serves as a nature preserve where biologists, botanists and zoologists study the wildlife which fled to this mountaintop when the Canal Basin was flooded in 1914 forming Lake Gatun. Home to 560 species of birds, 159 species of mammals, 125 different reptiles and amphibians and 1400 tropical plant and tree species, not to mention the insects. Barro Colorado is a walk on the wild side.
Along the Chagres River the jungle foliage becomes so dense that it seems to bend down for a cool drink. Here is where you really begin to encounter the most wildlife as inlets and coves appear like dark shaded alleyways. We saw Osprey eagles swooping to splash down then wing away clutching breakfast in their talons. The water takes on turquoise hues as we venture out of the shipping lanes and proceed in the shallower waters known as the Banana Straits. Here palms line the margins, abundance of turtles flourish, and the water becomes very transparent. You begin to make out objects like rocks, logs and tree stumps on the bottom. Throttling down to an Australian crawl, Capt. Ovido switches to polarized sunglasses and reverses the bill of his cap to a forward position and says “Hand me a beer Matey, this is where the fun starts.”
Using all his well-honed senses he begins the search for our target, the Peacock Bass so named for their markings and colorful tails. Ovido says to look for telltale signs like for a lone Seahawk perched on a lower tree branch or bush of cattails on a windward point off of a slope or just outside of a cove where in you see an alligator. These are all clues to where the migratory Peacock Bass may be hiding. “Be quiet, be vigilant, and nature will reveal itself to those in tune to its vibrations.” As we drift along thru the calm waters listen for a splash of a leaping fish, hear the call of the birds hunting the same elusive prey, the growl and sudden echo of a leopard no telling how close by in the jungle ahead, and the haunting deep sound of the black and white Howler Monkeys which frolic high in the branches under the bright yellow canopy of the Guayacan trees.
We break out the equipment and bait our barbed hooks through the eyes of sardines pulled from the live bait well. Fiberglass rods with pivoting spinner reels, nylon line and lead weights and we’re ‘good to go’. Spotting an area about 50 yards away where the water appears to boil, Ovido hits the gas and quickly shuts off the engine surging us toward the activity. Rod in hand he jumps to the front deck of the boat and casts his sardine like an archer towards the target. Just off center the silver bait fish lands in the water, seemingly in one protracted motion Ovido jerks back the rod and begins reeling. You can tell by the taughtness of the line that he has one on the hook. Next thing you know there is a large green fish with yellow eyes in the boat for me to admire. Michael and Ovido already have their lines in the water and say “what are you waiting for Gringo?”
When you feel the bass hit the bait in your fingertips, you jerk back quickly to set the hook When this happens it’s obvious because your pole whips like a question mark You can gauge the size fish on the other end of the line by the singing sound the reel makes as he rips your bait and immediately provides resistance. They take off every which way like a teetering gyroscope. These puppies do not want to go in the boat without a fight. Many times the really big ones snap your line or sometimes you reel in just the head of your sardine. Ahh, the ones that get away!
Half an hour later, we had worked up a sweat and caught 20 or more bass ranging from 1 to 3 pounds, all from one school. Michael says if they are longer than the shortest digit on his body he doesn’t throw them back. That certainly insures propagation of the species for future generations to come. By mid morn the sun begins to radiate and time for a cold Atlas Beer. Well deserved I might add. Our thirst quenched and catch iced down in the hold, its time to meander in further search.
Next stop a patch of reeds below a stand of coconut trees. The water ever so reflecting of the lush multi-green vegetation and the contrasting baby blue sky gave the distinct impression in mirror image of a vivid Paul Gaugin painting. We probed our casts toward an area vacated by an otter as we approached. A few empty reels then Whamo! here they come, bigger and more tenacious than before. Many were so big we had to use a net to land them in the boat. In all we caught about 65 fish, each one you’d be proud of.
Since we were almost to the Atlantic now and 30 miles from where we began, it was time to fasten the gear, fire up a MonteCristo, grab a cold Atlas, sit back, relax and enjoy the swift cruise home.
On the way we passed many large vessels of all shapes. An unforgettable moment involved an auto transport from Stockholm, a floating 4 level parking lot of Saabs on their way to the Far East. Eight Nordic looking crewmembers were killing time on the stern as we slipped into their wake. We exchanged seafaring waves, then at the spur of the moment I reached inside the hold and triumphantly held up the granddaddy of our catch, a 4.5 pound almost two foot long Peacock Bass for their inspection. With whistles and nodding approval they all stood in line and snapped off a salute to our efforts. At that moment as I looked around 360 degrees and took it all in, I thought to myself ‘Man would this make an Old Milwaukee commercial or what?’
By Panama Red
The day began before sunrise as Michael and I met to drive up thru Gamboa Rain Forrest to Gamboa Landing. There we met up with Capt. Ovido, our guide for the day. He pilots a 19 ft. fiberglass fishing boat stocked with everything we needed for the whole day. Capt. Ovido has been navigating these waterways for over 35 years in every size craft imaginable from a dugout teak canoe to a supertanker.
The early rays of the sun were glittering across the water as we set forth on our angling adventure. Gliding across what looked like liquid mercury, passing by a flock of yawning pelicans as we went under the Gamboa Landing Bridge and into open water of the Canal proper. As we headed North past the Black Knight Lighthouse, the 90-horse Yamaha outboard purred its way past many channel markers and buoys, Michael told tales of his swashbuckling days as a carefree bachelor in the Eighties, when he had the fastest ski boat at either end of the Canal. “Fish all morning, siesta away the midday, load the boat with contraband & a topless crew then ski past sunset, party and carry on until its time to go fishing again. Those were the days my friend, those were the days.”
As we passed Frijoles Point, where the recent dredging efforts curtail and the water begins to turn from grey to green, we encountered our first large ship, a freighter from Santiago, Chile. You never realize how massive those things are till you pass by one in a small vessel. Periodically along the banks you can catch glimpses of natives and their primitive huts constructed of wood and thatch.
While approaching Barro Colorado Island, the sometimes choppy water smoothes out. This pristine 3600 acre island is now owned by the Smithsonian Institute and serves as a nature preserve where biologists, botanists and zoologists study the wildlife which fled to this mountaintop when the Canal Basin was flooded in 1914 forming Lake Gatun. Home to 560 species of birds, 159 species of mammals, 125 different reptiles and amphibians and 1400 tropical plant and tree species, not to mention the insects. Barro Colorado is a walk on the wild side.
Along the Chagres River the jungle foliage becomes so dense that it seems to bend down for a cool drink. Here is where you really begin to encounter the most wildlife as inlets and coves appear like dark shaded alleyways. We saw Osprey eagles swooping to splash down then wing away clutching breakfast in their talons. The water takes on turquoise hues as we venture out of the shipping lanes and proceed in the shallower waters known as the Banana Straits. Here palms line the margins, abundance of turtles flourish, and the water becomes very transparent. You begin to make out objects like rocks, logs and tree stumps on the bottom. Throttling down to an Australian crawl, Capt. Ovido switches to polarized sunglasses and reverses the bill of his cap to a forward position and says “Hand me a beer Matey, this is where the fun starts.”
Using all his well-honed senses he begins the search for our target, the Peacock Bass so named for their markings and colorful tails. Ovido says to look for telltale signs like for a lone Seahawk perched on a lower tree branch or bush of cattails on a windward point off of a slope or just outside of a cove where in you see an alligator. These are all clues to where the migratory Peacock Bass may be hiding. “Be quiet, be vigilant, and nature will reveal itself to those in tune to its vibrations.” As we drift along thru the calm waters listen for a splash of a leaping fish, hear the call of the birds hunting the same elusive prey, the growl and sudden echo of a leopard no telling how close by in the jungle ahead, and the haunting deep sound of the black and white Howler Monkeys which frolic high in the branches under the bright yellow canopy of the Guayacan trees.
We break out the equipment and bait our barbed hooks through the eyes of sardines pulled from the live bait well. Fiberglass rods with pivoting spinner reels, nylon line and lead weights and we’re ‘good to go’. Spotting an area about 50 yards away where the water appears to boil, Ovido hits the gas and quickly shuts off the engine surging us toward the activity. Rod in hand he jumps to the front deck of the boat and casts his sardine like an archer towards the target. Just off center the silver bait fish lands in the water, seemingly in one protracted motion Ovido jerks back the rod and begins reeling. You can tell by the taughtness of the line that he has one on the hook. Next thing you know there is a large green fish with yellow eyes in the boat for me to admire. Michael and Ovido already have their lines in the water and say “what are you waiting for Gringo?”
When you feel the bass hit the bait in your fingertips, you jerk back quickly to set the hook When this happens it’s obvious because your pole whips like a question mark You can gauge the size fish on the other end of the line by the singing sound the reel makes as he rips your bait and immediately provides resistance. They take off every which way like a teetering gyroscope. These puppies do not want to go in the boat without a fight. Many times the really big ones snap your line or sometimes you reel in just the head of your sardine. Ahh, the ones that get away!
Half an hour later, we had worked up a sweat and caught 20 or more bass ranging from 1 to 3 pounds, all from one school. Michael says if they are longer than the shortest digit on his body he doesn’t throw them back. That certainly insures propagation of the species for future generations to come. By mid morn the sun begins to radiate and time for a cold Atlas Beer. Well deserved I might add. Our thirst quenched and catch iced down in the hold, its time to meander in further search.
Next stop a patch of reeds below a stand of coconut trees. The water ever so reflecting of the lush multi-green vegetation and the contrasting baby blue sky gave the distinct impression in mirror image of a vivid Paul Gaugin painting. We probed our casts toward an area vacated by an otter as we approached. A few empty reels then Whamo! here they come, bigger and more tenacious than before. Many were so big we had to use a net to land them in the boat. In all we caught about 65 fish, each one you’d be proud of.
Since we were almost to the Atlantic now and 30 miles from where we began, it was time to fasten the gear, fire up a MonteCristo, grab a cold Atlas, sit back, relax and enjoy the swift cruise home.
On the way we passed many large vessels of all shapes. An unforgettable moment involved an auto transport from Stockholm, a floating 4 level parking lot of Saabs on their way to the Far East. Eight Nordic looking crewmembers were killing time on the stern as we slipped into their wake. We exchanged seafaring waves, then at the spur of the moment I reached inside the hold and triumphantly held up the granddaddy of our catch, a 4.5 pound almost two foot long Peacock Bass for their inspection. With whistles and nodding approval they all stood in line and snapped off a salute to our efforts. At that moment as I looked around 360 degrees and took it all in, I thought to myself ‘Man would this make an Old Milwaukee commercial or what?’
