I wish I were a better writer. If I were I might be able to explain the magic of the sunset.
Taken in from the porch, atop a wooden rocking chair, on a porch just off the dining room. Looking out upon the Gulf of Chiriquí, past hand-hewn, tropical hardwood posts that support the roof.
You wonder to yourself whether this wonderful color—perhaps equal parts orange and pink, clear and vibrant, remarkable in clarity and hue. Thinking, you ponder whether this wonderful color that mixes so beautifully about the boundary of air and sea. You wonder how this color came to be, whether it emanates from the waves—the reflection not a reflection but a rising ether of color that comes alive out of the ocean.
Thinking, you sit wondering whether this this quality that your eyes so happily take in is rather a dissipation of vibrance that settles about the sea from the sky, completely and thoroughly painting the scene, covering every crack and crevice, the way that a cloud of dust might cover every inch of ground upon which it falls.
Were I a better writer I might be able to explain the wonderful qualities of purple that you might run across while fishing here. There’s a quality of clean, deep, clear ocean water, the kind that you hope to encounter offshore while marlin or tuna fishing.
It is hard to describe in exact terms, but you know it when you find it. It happens offshore here sometimes, often near Montuosa, sometimes off of Coiba or Jicaron. There are times when the water is so clear and blue and deep and clear that it seems transcend blueness and rather takes on a characteristic of purple.
When you find it, you look upon it with both excitement and anticipation for what may be lurking within. And often with appreciation of its remarkable and singular beauty, whether or not it produces the fish you are after.
But there is another, perhaps more surprising, but equally beautiful context of purple here. One that is incredible to see.
When the mighty black marlin appears in the spread, lit up and excited, its tail and pec fins sometimes erupt in a lavender neon. Black marlin are elusive, in many ways mysterious.
Interacting with them in the places they live- the high spot south of Montuosa, Hannibal Bank or around Ladrones—watching the savagery and grace with which they accost live baits. Witnessing the incredible power and speed with which they hurl themselves—sometimes all 600-pounds of themselves—out of the water. Watching all of this—the way that line pours off of a 50 wide, dripping from the reel into the sea smoothly and effortlessly, as though the 17-pounds of drag were nothing at all.
Partaking of this scene, hearing the engaged clicker sound off like a scolded cat, holding the reel and bracing your thigh against the gunnel as the captain spins the boat on the fish. The sight of all of this… the white, clean and crisp, radiance of the tropical sun’s reflection off of gelcoat. The smell of salt and the faint, distinct air that sometimes accompanies places where fish are actively feeding.
In the midst of the intensity and overpowering quality of presentness of the moment. When you’re here, strapped into the harness, connected to the most powerful and graceful force in the Eastern Tropical Pacific, you notice the most unexpected of colors.
This creature before you, this most awe-inspiring of creatures before you, has flashes of lavender, soft and beautiful, on its fixed airplane wing-like pectoral fins. Yes, this is a most unexpected place to see such a quality of purple, you think to yourself.
COME SEE US
Were I a bit better at writing, perhaps I could explain just how incredible all of this is to partake.
Then there is the tuna frenzy. Excited, frothed, agitated ocean. Birds diving from above, tuna erupting from below. As the boat drives toward the mayhem, curse words and exclamations burst forth from all of those aboard.
Were I a better writer, perhaps I could put you here. A spinning rod outfitted with a giant popper, your belly and thigh pressed firmly against the handrail on the bow of the Freeman. Spinning rod in your right, your left hand white knuckling the polished aluminum rail—your knees bending up and down, taking the shock out of the waves.
Were I just a bit better at writing, I might be able to place your kid next to you, against the rail on the casting platform. Each of you looking on in amazement at the sight unfolding before you. I’d put your buddy in the cockpit in the back, ready to deploy a live bonito in pursuit of a big one, a real one. A giant yellowfin, the size you’d not want to tangle with on a spinning rod.
If I could do it, I’d translate the excitement. The awe. The counter intuitiveness and the exhilaration. A scene that unfolds with such pace, such excitement, such thrill, that no matter how many times you’ve seen it, your brain still has trouble processing it.
One tuna after another blasting baits, blasting poppers. More rods hooked up than there are anglers on the boat. The mate has one hooked up too.
The tuna dance, overs and unders, from the bow to the cockpit, up and down the rails, is much more exciting when your dance partners are people you care about. Each of you partaking of a scene so incredible that it will forever come up when the topic of best or favorite fishing story arises.
Then the story transitions to happy hour and sushi night at the lodge. It is here that your best day of fishing might well result in the one of the most memorable dining experiences of your life.
You might even eat a plate piled high with sushi and sashimi and poke and seared tuna from that same wooden rocking chair. On that same porch. Looking over the Gulf of Chiriquí, looking past those same hand-hewn tropical hardwood posts.
Only now your wonder about this most beautiful intersection of orange and pink must contend for space within your mind with this unexpected transfiguration of fish of a lifetime into perhaps the most remarkable dining experience you can remember having in a long, long while.
If I were a better writer maybe I could put you on this porch, in this rocking chair, with this plate of sushi. But then again, maybe you should come down and experience the Gulf of Chiriquí for yourself.
