By Paul Lebowitz

For kayak anglers who love to catch big fish from small boats, there are few better places in the world than the East Cape of Baja California, Mexico, and not many better places to stay there than the Hotel Punta Colorada.

The hotel - the destination for specialty trips offered by La Jolla Kayak Fishing’s Jim Sammons - enjoys a prime location, smack in the middle of some of the best roosterfish territory anywhere. Stealthy kayaks are ideal platforms for stalking the powerful and majestic, yet skittish, roosters in the sandy shallows just off the fabled lighthouse at Punta Arena.

The roosters are only the first of the exotics available for the avid kayak fisherman. Area waters are also home to jacks, tuna, dorado, sailfish and marlin, all of which can give an angler a true Baja sleigh ride.

You see, some of these fish will pull a kayak so fast the boat will throw a wake. Scarcely able to contain myself at the thought of all the action to come, I joined a great set of kayak anglers at Punta Colorada.

Big game kayak fishing expert Jim Sammons led the trip. Sammons’ fellow Ocean Kayak Fishing Crew member Matt Moyer and Team Cobra angler Todd Groessl also came along. The group was rounded out by seasoned kayak anglers Niel Hoglen and Mike Gravatte and the husband and wife team of Rod Bennett and Val Pryor. Looking out for all of us kayakeros locos was the hilarious and profanely paternal Alonso, the experienced Mexican skipper of our support boat.

The water was colder than usual, the wind often howling out of the south, and bait in short supply. But we weren’t going to let poor conditions get in the way of our fishing fun.

This is Baja?
One day, a shortage of live mullet for roosterfish bait sends Bennett, Pryor and me offshore to jig for grouper and cabrilla. Before long, Pryor is hooked up on a Krocodile spoon.

The fight is spirited. As she brings the fish to color she calls out in surprise, “It’s a yellowtail!”

Her respectable 15-pounder - a nice fish in summertime San Diego - is a big surprise for the East Cape in July.

Then in surreal fashion, I jig up a plump whitefish - a rockfish that thrives in cool temperate waters. If it wasn’t 100 degrees out, we might be fooled into thinking we are back home, not 1,000 miles south.

I flash back to a story Sammons told about catching a yellowtail the prior year. Alonso supposedly shook his head in disbelief, and then said, in his unique accent, “Jim, yellowtail in July!” He was implying that the imps down in the inferno must be wearing snowshoes. No doubt this year they’ve added parkas to stave off the chill.

Clack! Clack! Clack!
Later that same day I am trolling a live bait over the rocky edge of a shallow reef when the water behind me erupts with a furious splash. Do I have my first rooster?

East Cape Kayak Tuna - La Jolla Kayak Fishing’s Jim Sammons brings in a “football” yellowfin just a couple of miles offshore of La Ribera. Tuna were just one of the many species caught in the area.

Look at Those Chompers - The author controls the 5-foot long needlefish that tried to dine on his toes. Instead, the fish had to settle for chewing on a fiberglass paddle. PHOTO COURTESY VALERIE PRYOR

Fooling a Rooster - Team Cobra’s Todd Groessl holds up a trophy roosterfish moments before releasing it. Stealthy kayaks are ideal platforms for stalking the powerful and majestic roosters in the sandy shallows just off the fabled lighthouse at Punta Arena. PHOTO COURTESY JIM SAMMONS

No, this fish comes quickly to the boat. Instead of the thick silhouette I’m hoping for, deep color reveals a very long, skinny fish. The instant it eyes me it charges the kayak, crocodilian jaws snapping at my dangling feet.

I snatch my toes out of the water. Instead of flesh, the fish chews on my paddle with a grating “clack, clack, clack.”

Eventually, it loses its taste for fiberglass and I gingerly hoist the wriggling 5-foot long fish into the kayak for a photo.

So this is a needlefish. Its belligerent attitude explains Sammons’ claim that they pose a greater hazard to kayakers than sharks.

Misery
The entire group is fishing for roosters in the well-known hot zone in front of the lighthouse at Punta Arena. The action is torrid - kayaks zipping off in all directions, grinning anglers holding on for dear life behind 30- and 40-pounders.

Except for me. A black cloud seems to follow my every paddle stroke.

As the afternoon wears on with no action, I forget I should be having fun. Instead, I’m obsessed with a single phrase that I can’t get out of my head: “Three days in the East Cape and all I’ve caught is one stinking whitefish and one rotten needle.” I need an attitude adjustment and I get it on the paddle back to the hotel.

As I’m trolling a Rapala Countdown Magnum, something bites the plug, so I increase the drag and lay into the fish. The next thing I know, a blur flashes across the surface of the water and then - wham!

It smacks me square in the ribs, stunning me. The fish is gone, but the Rapala is dangling from my shirt sleeve, every sharp point but one buried in the fabric.

I’ve been rammed by a 3-foot long needlefish. Catharsis! I don’t feel so bad anymore - except for where that nasty bugger hit me. There, I’m black and blue.

Buzzer Beater
Today is getaway day. Everyone else can boast of a few East Cape trophies, something they reminded me of not so gently at dinner last night. I still have one last day to make good.

Live bait is scarce again, but I don’t care. We head out to the jigging grounds, but today there will be no whitefish. Yellowfin are here!

They are eating Megabait irons dropped to the bottom or burned to the surface. Happy pandemonium reigns among the kayakeros. I get one and then a skipjack spins me around in wide circles.

I get a third tuna hook-up, but this time a sea lion grabs my fish. Tourists and grizzled skippers watch incredulously as the “dog” pulls me and my kayak through a fleet of boats. I laugh while enjoying the ride. I’m in a Baja state of mind.

Our time is almost gone when Alonso arrives with some perfect mullet. We cram the kayaks onto the boat and squeeze aboard, then race to the lighthouse. The roosters are on the chew. Moyer gets one and then Groessl and Gravatte score.

When Moyer comes zipping by again he yells out, “Sorry! I wish this was you.”

I start to shake my head, but instead shout encouragement. Only 10 minutes are left. I turn around to troll back to the boat.

There are only 100 feet to go when I hear the sweet sound of a screaming clicker. Behind me a roosterfish soars out of the water. It jumps twice more before I bring the line tight.

Baja sleigh ride, baby! This is what I came for.