Let’s go fishing, and don’t forget the kayak

Jose Vazquez once served in the Spanish navy, but on this day he’s taking orders from Dennis Spike and struggling to regain his sea legs.

“Now you know why we lost the war,” he muses while floundering atop a white plastic kayak, presumably alluding to Mexico’s triumph over Spain in a war for independence that ended in 1821.

But soon the 59-year-old mechanic, who lives in New York, declares his own independence, paddling off and, fishing pole in hand, engaging feisty creatures of the deep in vertical conflict.

It’s an idyllic battleground: water bluer than sky, in vivid contrast to the rugged Baja California coast, and as placid as a backyard pool.

“I never expected this to be so enjoyable,” Vazquez shouts. “It’s wonderful being out here like this, even if you aren’t catching fish.”

Exotic bounty

Sea kayaking is a burgeoning pastime and so is kayak-fishing.

Spike, reachable via www.kayakfishing.com, helped pioneer this intimate type of angling, initially off Southern California.

His first victim: a 25-pound halibut. He also has prevailed in monumental clashes with giant seabass and aerobatic thresher sharks.

But here, in Baja’s sun-baked East Cape region, where the Sea of Cortez resembles a shimmering patchwork of blues and greens, an exotic flavor kicks in and the variety of species is staggering.

Broad-shouldered roosterfish, their charcoal-striped bodies crested with rooster-comb fins, literally chase bait schools onto the beach.

Jack crevalle, slightly smaller but no less spirited, prowl the sandy flats in schools so dense that they cast wide shadows across the sea floor.

Pargo and cabrilla are apex reef-dwellers prized for their tender flesh, but they do not emerge willingly, and if they are pulled from their cavernous realm they charge swiftly for more cover.

“I was once pulled a mile offshore and into the darkness by a giant pargo,” Spike recalls, as if to emphasize that kayaks don’t have brakes.

Dorado and sailfish, though more common offshore, have provided thrill rides within a mile from the coast.

In fact, Spike’s most frightening encounter was with a hooked sailfish that came within inches of turning him into a kabob.

“Those things can spear you, but the scariest thing, really, are the motorboats with people on them who’ve had too much to drink,” says the former Reseda chiropractor.

Ranch life

Spike, 48, works as a seasonal guide for Rancho Leonero Resort, a remote thatched-roof oasis on an otherwise inhospitable stretch of desert between La Ribera and Buena Vista.

He generally fishes within a 2.2-mile radius of “the ranch” because venturing beyond requires excessive paddling and becomes risky because of unexpected winds.

Spike once watched proudly as a 65-year-old client successfully battled a 45-pound yellowtail; another time as a 62-year-old client landed a 42-pound amberjack.

Sometimes, a cruiser is used to haul kayaks far to sea, where fishermen are placed amid schools of tuna or near floating objects that attract dorado, or mahi-mahi.

“It’s a whole different experience out there without a motor,” he says, as Vazquez and Rick Williams, 51, a visitor from Fallbrook, Calif., work a subtle underwater incline in the distance.

“Things you can see and do, you just can’t experience on a boat” because kayaks put fishermen virtually on the waterline and do not produce engine noise that can spook game fish.

Perhaps the clearest example occurred five years ago, when Spike and two clients, aboard a cruiser carrying kayaks, came upon dozens of other cruisers surrounding a floating whale carcass.

Dorado teemed below but were not biting.

The kayakers dropped in, navigated among the cruisers and hooked up almost immediately. Golden mahi-mahi danced at the ends of their lines.

They were viewed as interlopers, however, and paddled in a sea of growing resentment.

“We’d better get out while we can,” Spike told his companions, and they were quickly headed shoreward with what would become “the catch of the day” back at the ranch.

On location

Not all trips are as productive. Vazquez and Williams have scheduled theirs on a morning when sardines, which are generally abundant, have mysteriously vanished.

All they have for bait are dead squid and a few live mullet, and they’ve dropped lines after pargo and cabrilla, but have landed only puffers, needlefish and triggerfish.

Williams is told he’s moving up the food chain.

“That’s good, as long as I don’t become part of the chain,” he responds, alluding to the side-saddle technique, whereby anglers submerge their feet as they drift.

The location -- in front of a house owned by actor Scott Glenn -- is prone to theatrics involving much larger fish.

Spike barks orders he hopes will brings results -- “I want you guys to repeat that drift!” -- but his clients, a fair distance away, seem lost in solitude.

Finally, Williams finds quality in the form of a large spotted cabrilla, which he lifts carefully onto his kayak.

But, alas, an easterly breeze materializes and soon becomes a fierce wind, frothing the sea and shoving the kayakers shoreward.

Spike orders a hasty return to the ranch and no one argues.

After all, Williams has his dinner and Vazquez a restored mastery of small craft. So, when you throw in the wind and the chop, an appropriate title for this story requires only three words:

Victory at sea.

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pete.thomas@latimes.com