The Fishing
After our brief visit with the president in Lima and a press event the next day, Rey, Nelson, Peel, Winitzky and I headed to the airport for a quick two-hour flight to the city of Tumbas, about 800 miles north. Once there, we were met by a van for another one-hour drive to our hotel for the duration of our stay in Punta Sal, the aptly named and gorgeous, Punta Sal Hotel.

Our host and owner of the hotel, Pancho Helguero, was anticipating our arrival, and the bar was already filled with several fishing teams that had come down from Ecuador to help us explore the area. And this is definitely a fisherman's hangout; a huge marlin mount dominates the bar's decor, and hundreds of pictures document successful fishing adventures both past and present. If the fish on the walls were any indication, a good trip was already in the bag.
 
On the first day I joined Peruvian angler Ricardo Cilloniz and his wife, Cecilia, on their 35-foot Blackfin, Anakalea. We planned to target the striped marlin that were congregating around Mancora Bank, a raised area about 20 miles to the northeast of Punta Sol. (Punta Sol actually represents an ideal location to fish these waters, since it lies right in the middle of the two hot fishing spots, 20 miles from the bank and 20 miles from Cabo Blanco.)
 
As the crew readied our baits, I started to get a little uneasy. First, I thought somebody must have got the wrong message about our targeted species because the lure/bait combinations that the mate pulled out of the cooler were gigantic. They had to be the biggest ballyhoo I've ever seen, double-hook rigged with stainless-steel 12/0s and big lures - these guys came loaded for bear and we were targeting ground squirrels. Second, the water looked as green as pea soup. After making mention of the water's color several times, the captain assured me that it was normal for this time of year and that the fish wouldn't mind.
 
Unfortunately, the best time to target striped marlin in Peru runs from January through March, so we were fishing at the tail end of the season. The big black marlin season runs from May to September when the wind blows and seas get rough.

True to the captain's word, once on the bank we started seeing tailing fish right away. Good-sized stripers in the 150- to 200-pound range lazed on the glass-calm surface, usually in pairs or groups of three. Much like the striped marlin fishery in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, crews here try to spot finning marlin or swords on the surface and then position the boat to troll the baits in front of the fish.
 
Our first fish of the day ate great, but the captain tried to use the boat to set the hook and ran a good hundred yards away as it jumped all over the ocean. Not surprisingly, the hook pulled. The first fish set the pace for the day, and we missed at least three more bites before we finally started for home. But I remained confident; we saw at least 10 marlin, and several of the boats in our little group released one or two. Other boats reported seeing swordfish basking on the surface as well.
 
On the second day I fished with Ecuadorian IGFA representative Paco Sola on his beautiful Hatteras, Sea Baby. With yesterday's results still spinning in my head, before the crew could put the baits out I asked if I could rig up a couple of the Mold Craft Needlefish I had brought along with 7/0 hooks to try to get a better hookup on the diminutive stripeys. After several uneasy glances at my relatively tiny offering, they agreed and hid two of them on the flat lines in the whitewash. Since I had already got them to agree to pull the lures, I didn't have the heart to tell them that they belonged on the riggers.
 
That all changed after we missed two fish in row. After we flubbed the second one on a long rigger bite, I asked if I could put one of the needlefish on the outrigger. After a few seconds of hesitation, they agreed and out she went.
 
Not 10 minutes later we ran across two tailers, and the captain positioned the boat perfectly; however, my lure was on the opposite side of the spread, away from the tailing fish. It didn't matter. One of the two stripeys swam through the spread of enormous baits and took up position right behind the needlefish lure.

"Eat it, eat it, eat it," I chanted under my breath. As if it heard my pleas, the fish piled on the lure and hooked up. You gotta love it when a plan comes together! The second fish came up on the left flat, and we watched as it nearly choked to death trying to eat one of our huge baits before pulling off and sinking out of sight. 

Meanwhile, our bill-less stripey put on a good show, staying right behind the boat, allowing the mate to get the release quickly. Once the fish swam out of sight, all of our guests came down from the flybridge to get a good look at the double-hooked needlefish rig.

On our last day in Punta Sol, Peel and Nelson decided to skip the fishing and drive down to Cabo Blanco to visit the now defunct game club, home to the largest marlin ever caught according to IGFA rules, and get an interview with several of the surviving captains and mates from Peru's glory days. I decided to head down there too, on the ocean side.

Back on Anakalea, we made the hour's run south to Cabo Blanco only to find gray, hazy skies and cold, 69-degree water. We gamely fished the chilly waters for an hour or two, and I finally told the fellows that if they thought we could do better back at the bank, then we should take off. After a two-hour run back to the bank, it was now a little past noon, a perfect time for the stripeys to start showing on the surface. Almost immediately after our arrival on the bank, we started seeing tailing marlin again.

Unfortunately, our bad luck continued, and although we went on to get at least five more bites - even one on the needlefish - we couldn't get any of them to stick.  

 With the two new directives helping both the billfish and anchovy populations, Peru seems poised to get back into the sport-fishing business. With a stable democracy, great food and wonderful, friendly people, the only thing missing is a dedicated fleet of sport-fishers committed to exploring Peruvian waters once more, and they too will come. In the words of Rafael Rey, "We're back!"