Sep 14, 2009
Wet and Wild in Panama

Although the fishing could have been a lot better, Panama sure offered up some grand adventures. Even getting out of the States wasn't easy. Everyone's flights were right on time, and we all met up in Miami for the trip over. After boarding our flight to Panama, however, things started to get a little funky.

About 30 minutes after taking our seats, the captain's voice cracked over the intercom explaining that one of the crewmen had spotted some sort of hydraulic leak and that they were trying to ascertain its source and whether or not it could be fixed. Now I don't know how familiar you are with the intricacies of aircraft mechanics, but anytime I hear the words "hydraulic leak" my mind immediately races through all the airplane disaster films I've seen, stopping at each reference to an aircraft suffering from this little problem, and let me tell you, none of the outcomes are good. As the captain droned on about how he didn't think they were going to be able to fix it, I'd already leapt up and gathered my things, eager to get off the death trap before they changed their minds and sent us up in piece of crap held together with bailing wire. (It's amazing how your mind races when your butt's on the line!) Luckily for all of us, my worst fears were unrealized; they couldn't fix the leak, and we all filed off to wait for another plane.

All I had to worry about now was catching the connecting charter flights in Panama that would take us to the island of San Jose.

We arrived in Panama City, about 1 1/2 hours late but still with plenty of daylight to make the short hop over to San Jose and the beautiful Hacienda del Mar resort.

As we loaded all of our guests into a twin-engine Otter for the flight, Walker Holcomb and I walked over to the ancient little four-seat Cessna that would be our ride. There wasn't enough room for all of us and our luggage on the Otter, so Holcomb and I volunteered to go over in the belly of the mosquito.

As the Otter roared to the runway and took off, our pilot, who looked like he might have just turned 17, instructed us to throw our bags in the back before folding ourselves up and crawling into the tiny plane. My first impression upon taking my seat was, "Holy crap, this thing is old!" Funky plastic chevrons, like the ones you saw in your dad's early model "oldsmo-buick" adorned the steering yokes, and seats were as dry and dusty as a pile of winter leaves. I swear this thing had to be hull number one!

I gave Walker a worried glance over my shoulder, and he responded with his usual snicker and pull off a bottle of rum he keeps handy for just such occasions. Not feeling too brave myself, I gave him the universal head nod for "gimme some!"

Now, with my belly boiling from the shot of straight, hot, cheap rum, the pilot climbed in beside me and started his preflight checks. Once all the appropriate knobs and chokes were pushed and pulled into their proper positions, the pilot turned the key. Nothing happened. After glancing through his checklist again, the pilot fiddled with the controls and fired her up again. This time the telltale murmurings of a dead battery or starter echoed through the little tin box. After several more attempts, he declared the plane dead. (Not that we would have left with my butt on it anyway; I'd already decided after about the third try that we weren't going to be leaving on this plane even if it did start.)

I spent a few frantic minutes trying to call the rest of our party on the Otter as they flew away, but got nothing. Since our van had left for the terminal, we were now stuck out on the hot blacktop tarmac, sweating as we waited for another bus, wondering where the heck we were going to stay the night and how we were going to get back over to the island in time to go fishing the next day.

Thirty minutes later another bus arrived, and we loaded up and headed for the Marriott. Our driver and the pilot assured us that we could get on another plane the next day before 6 a.m., but I didn't sleep a wink all night, wondering if we'd make it over in time for the first day's fishing. I shouldn't have worried - precisely at 5:00 our pilot picked us up and whisked us to another airport for our short flight to San Jose, and we made it just in time to get our butts kicked in the nastiest rainstorm we've ever encountered at a Marlin U. Even so, I was just happy to be there.

We ended up catching five sails and two blue marlin on Bushwacker with Capt. Skeet Reese, but the other boats didn't do as well. The fish seemed to be stacked up inside the edge, and most of our guys spent the majority of their time out a bit farther in blue water and came up short. Peter Wright's boat ended the trip with three blue marlin bites the last day; however, his students couldn't connect.

I will say that even though the fishing was bit slow for Panama standards, we couldn't have been happier with the resort. The Hacienda del Mar sits in an idyllic spot, and the food and accommodations were first-rate. I'm sure that we'll be back again.

POSTED BY MarlinEdit AT 11:57