By Gerardo Martin Del Campo
I grew in San Ysidro approximately three miles from the Border between San Diego and Tijuana, Mexico. At the time San Ysidro was a growing community or primarily Mexican and Philippino immigrants. It was around the age of 10 when I had my first fishing experience.
One day my friends mentioned Pancho was going to take them fishing the next morning at one of the local piers, and they wanted to know if I could tag along. Pancho was our next-door neighbor. He was a border patrol agent whose kids had already grown, married, and moved out of the house. Apparently he was also an avid fisherman, a fact that I had never noticed. I had spent countless days growing up in his backyard watching him garden, collecting bugs or grubs that got dug up, and watching with great interest as he planted his flowers, removed the weeds, and checked the plants for bug infestations. This may not seem like anything now, but back then as a 4-year-old who had yet to start school everything was new and exciting. I guess that’s where the term “a child’s curiosity” comes from. I jumped at the chance to go, and my parents had no problem letting me go for the day under his care.
The next morning my two friends and I promptly knocked on Poncho’s door at 6 a.m. to find him still asleep. Twenty minutes later and we were on the road. I can’t tell you how excited I was at that time, and there have been few instances in my life where I felt such pure and unadulterated joy and suspense at what was to come. We stopped first at a local tackle shop where we picked up some bait, hooks, weights, and line. Of course this was all new to me, but Pancho had us taken care of in this manner.
We arrived at the J Street Pier in Chula Vista around 8 A.M. It was a beautiful Saturday morning with clear skies and warm weather. I borrowed an extra rod from my friends, followed their instructions to set up my rig, and dropped down with a frozen anchovy. Looking back now I realize it wasn’t till many years later that I actually learned how to tie fishing knots. Back then my knot consisted of a series of granny knots (about 8 to 10) over one another. I figure with such a big knot there was no way it could slip. My friends and I decided to use 60-lb line figuring there was no way we could lose a fish with 60-lb line. Its pretty obvious now we had no clue what we were doing, and that Pancho had wanted us to figure things out on our own.
We spent the day catching small smelt on little treble hooks for bait, and talking to anyone and everyone who came by the pier. By about 4 p.m. our catch consisted of smelt in various sizes, and the occasional needlenose fish we somehow managed to catch with live bait.
At this time Pancho asked if we wanted to try Shelter Island, and of course we said yes. During those days we would have been happy fishing 24 hours a day if we could. I got the O.K. from my folks to stay out late, and said we would be back by 10 or 11 p.m. So, we jumped in Pancho’s car, him and the three of us, and we headed to Shelter Island. I was amazed that we could buy live anchovies, and a part of me wanted to take them home and put them in an aquarium. We started catching mackerel almost on the first drop, and one or two bonito.
It was then that I decided I should try some surface fishing for mackerel like everyone else since nothing was happening along the bottom. I started reeling in my line, and thought I had snagged the bottom. It wasn’t until Pancho pointed out the bottom would not be giving you any line that I realized I actually had a fish on. When it reached the surface about 10 feet below the pier there I was staring at my first live halibut ever. It was about 28 inches, and who knows what weight. My friends started yelling and screaming for the gaff. In my mind I asked myself what is a gaff? What do you need it for? Oh well, I started to hand line the fish up the pier. It was then that my friends yelled, “What are you doing?” At the same time they yelled the fish gave a big kick and snap!! The line ripped, the fish fell back into the water, and with a single tail whip was out of sight. Needless to say my heart sank, and my friends started yelling, “Why didn’t you wait for the gaff?” To which I responded I didn’t know what that was; it was my first time remember.
From that day forward I swore that one day I would catch that halibut that got away and make amends for my inexperience. Throughout all of this, Poncho just watched with idle curiosity, and it was then that I learned the expression “the one that got away”. Pancho proceeded to tell us a number of stories about mishaps, lost fish, and lost gear. In the end I’m sure his main goal was to make me feel better.
All I can say is that one day got me hooked. For the next 3 years we would eagerly show up at Pancho’s house during the weekends, and summers during the week to see when we would go out again. He probably took us out 4 or 5 times a month in the summer, and once a month during the school year. Looking back I realize these were his days off, and we weren’t even his kids. Yet, he never turned us down without a good reason. Many times we would wake him up at 6 a.m., and in hind site you could tell that was the last thing he wanted to do. But, he would go back inside, and emerge with rod, tackle, and coffee and off we went.
Every time we went out Pancho would always tell us “One day you guys need to get some money from your parents, and we’ll go out on a charter boat for some deep sea fishing. You won’t believe the stuff we can catch.” I can’t tell you how many times we heard this phrase, but somehow it just never happened. Something always seemed to come up on the day we had planned. After awhile it became the big joke amongst the four of us, almost like our mantra “One day….”.
Around the age of 14 several things happened. Pancho developed diabetes, and his health started to decline. My other two friends became involved with gangs and drugs, and as a result I was left with no one to fish. I spent countless days on the local piers growing up, and the stories alone could fill an entire book. I gave up fishing until I entered college because I had no one to go with anymore. To me it was always the social aspect of fishing and not so much the fish that I enjoyed. You never knew whom you would meet or the stories they would tell, and at 10 to 14 years of age they were all interesting.
I finally started fishing again in college. My first deep-sea trip was out of Santa Cruz for rockfish. Needless to say I was hooked again. All I could think about that first trip was the times I had growing up, and in the back of my mind I dedicated that trip to Pancho. “Pancho, I finally made it out. You were right. It was all you said and more”. I lost track of Pancho through the years, but never forgot the profound influence he had on my life. I learned a lot about fishing, but even more about life. I still can’t see what motivated him to take on 3 kids during his days off to fish. I do the same thing now when I visit my family. I take my nephews out fishing, and they are the same age I was back then. Let me tell you this can be a rewarding but at times very trying experience. I don’t think there is a day that I fish where I don’t think of Pancho. If you are still out there Pancho, I just wanted to say “Thank You.”
