Sweat broke out all over the fisherman's body. Tension to an as-yet unseen force below fluctuated with the muscles in the arms and torso. Blood ran into tricks down the opaque line of monofilament, cutting through his hands, dripping into the open Pacific, as if in some instinctive ritual rhythm. The Bull Shark was slowly rising to the surface. Not in a hurry. He rotated a hand pulled by a dugout canoe in a lazy circle, like the hand of a clock running backwards. He could see it now. He looked almost as long as a canoe. He rose to his knees for a better lever. On the next aisle, he was greeted by a cold, unblinking left eye. Knowing that he was hooked, he was locked up for deeper water near tipping a canoe. Warm bile urine quietly ran down his leg in a soft stream to mix with turquoise sea water, which now half filled the dugout. A few minutes later he rose just below the surface, still circling. Now he was not afraid, he was looking at him, pulling to the line. Salt water and tears lit eyes. A terrible acrid smell attacked his nostrils. Icy grip squeezed his heart. He thought about his wife and children. Tomorrow will be Christmas. But today one of them will die.
It was a three-week vacation on a fishing holiday on the Pacific coast of the Choco region of Colombia. I went up to fish in salt water in addition to chasing other species in freshwater rivers such as the Chori, Yurubid and Tribugha, which allowed them to rain rain forests that fed the waters of the Pacific. Fifty pounds plus the look of a catfish and the monster Red Snapper often eat just outside these river mouths. Other predatory bouncers, such as Sierra, Aguja, Tuna, Albacore, Wahoo and Dorado, also frequently feed in these areas. Sharks frequent the territory, many sharks.
Bull Shark
Fishing guide Pepe Lopez and I used a two-meter bull shark on Saturday, December 24, 2005, which bothered a local fisherman in a three-and-a-half meter boat with dugouts outside Utria Ensenada National Park. The shark has already swallowed the fisherman’s bait: a whole, lively 18-inch Tuna and spinning a fisherman and his canoe. The shark still had a 120-pound test nylon line and double fiber with four hooks at the mouth and spun around the canoe and the fisherman. The fisherman still had the other end of the line, providing tension against the fish. The line could hold the fish, but did not match the razor jaws. Soon the line will be bitten or broken by the strain and re-abrasion of the shark's sandwich skin. Now, if you think, "Just cut the line, and the shark will go away," then you don't know the Bull-Shark. No chance. He simply ate free light food and was looking for the next course. This shark will not go anywhere, at least for now.
You do the math
If the fisherman wins, he can count on a hefty payday. Only shark fins commanded an accurate amount in regional markets, and shark meat called Toyo was a valuable commodity. The situation did not look too good for the home team at the moment when we joined it. The two-meter Bull shark, one of the three most dangerous and aggressive types of sharks in the world, is a wooden wandering canoe three and a half meters long, without an engine, only one-lobed manpower. No stun gun. No machete. No knife. The shark just swallowed free light food and was ready to make another one. They were separated from the coast by shark. You do the math.
If the Bull shark had broken, knocked over or sank a canoe and won - well, the fisherman would never see the house again. In this region of the world, “this happens all the time,” said Doris López, a resident of the village of Jurabida. Fortunately, our boat was a seven-meter heavy wooden factory equipped with an outboard motor. We also had a removable head harpoon with a 250-pound test braid and a wooden float. As we approached the stage, the fisherman frantically waved his hand. A look of horror on his face pronounced toms. Salt spray bit our eyes and nostrils. Our lips have tried brine. Wind-whipped, moist air smells like death.
Friendly chat
Only an hour ago we pushed and spoke briefly with him. He was after Bravo and pulled out one line with a lively profit with a two-hook setting, calculated to a depth of about thirty feet. The live bait of choice was Tuna, who ran in schools 40 or so and between 14 and 20 inches in length, weighing between six and ten pounds in these waters. Already he had two thirty-pound Bravo in his hand, wiped out a dugout canoe, and was going for a hat-trick. The third Bravo "just threw the tuna bait and stretched the surface, apparently frightened by something else," said the fisherman. He was not sure what. The shark was processed to the depths where he and she could see each other. When all hell broke. Then he became a fight seriously, but the home team lost ground.
last fight
We surrounded the stage and decided to lure the beast to help in the battle with the first bus, and then to conquer it. Three of us took almost an hour to defeat and land the threat. The original fisherman's nylon line finally broke under tension. I took care of him. Finally, we had to knock him out with a paddle with repeated heavy blows to the gills and brain areas above and behind the eyes. We killed him and dragged the creature aboard our launch. The fisherman cut out his rig with two hooks and took the shark's dorsal and front fins, which cost almost as much as the rest of the shark. He went to his battling schooner dugout to Bahia Solano. This was the last thing we saw him and never got his name. Pepe sold the shark carcass to the commercial fishing vessel "ARES", which the captain took him south along the Pacific coast of Colombia to the port of Buenaventura for weighing and wholesale. Interestingly, my wife and I again took the same boat back to Buenaventura in returning home the next day. That same trip is really like a shark.
