Gobbling to Glory

Jason had deliberately come here to Fowler’s Gap in the outback portions of New South Wales, Australia to help out with a Kangaroo banding project run by the University of New South Wales.  But this.  How in the world had he gotten himself in his current dilemma.  It was one thing to tackle a 175 pound 6-foot-tall adult male red kangaroo, but this other undertaking-ugh.

            Young Jason, only 16 years old and the product of a middle-class home in the metropolitan Washington DC area, had felt very proud and excited to join 25 other people from around the world to volunteer for this marvelous project.  His competitive drive, derived from aggressive Lacrosse games, had him hyped to take on the kangaroo.  The long journey from Virginia with his dad Ian was exciting all by itself.

            But then, in the middle of the night he joined others hanging on the back of a Toyota pickup truck driving around the roadless outback looking for kangaroos.  Wow.  There was a group up ahead. He almost couldn’t believe what happened next.  The driver inched forward to get as close as possible to the herd.  Next a graduate student standing on the bed of the truck turned on a very bright spotlight and picked out one large male.  Immediately thereafter, the other graduate student riding shotgun pulled out a rifle and fired a shot that passed close to the head and ears of the animal.

            That shot was the signal for Jason and the others hanging on the side to truck to jump down and race toward the kangaroo.  Amazingly, the kangaroo did not run, and the first man there (Benny, a lanky graduate student) hit the animal with a flying tackle and took it down.  That didn’t last as the animal used its strong hind legs to bring itself upright.  As it did so, its tail swung around in a broad arc and cracked into the head of Jason, the second at the scene.  Down went Jason from the impact, but the others close behind completely quelled the struggling animal.  The animal was then tagged with a radio collar, and ear tags and released.

Jason later learned that the combination of the bright light in the eyes and the sound of the bullet whizzing past the ears stunned the animal so its instinct to run was temporarily suppressed.  Jason definitely was feeling down as a result of being taken down by a kangaroo rather taking down a kangaroo.  His mood got much better on later nights when he was the victor in similar struggles.

But now, this barbeque was coming up.  It sounded really good, but….one of activities-really.  This was a sheep station, and the purpose of kangaroo study was to determine how sheep and kangaroos could coexist without exterminating all the kangaroos.  The barbeque was to taste both grilled sheep and kangaroo as well as feral goat that were everywhere. 

But Witchetty grubs?  You have got to be kidding.

But the night of the barbeque came and the roasted meat of all three animals was fantastic. Everyone was having a great time.  And then Jack, the team leader stood up and talked about the Witchetty Grubs. He said,  “These creatures are the larvae of wood-eating moths in outback Australia and have been an important staple in the Aboriginal diet.”  He further posited that “You cannot be a real Australian unless you have eaten Witchetty grubs.  The staff has prepared some grubs for your enjoyment.  Who is first in line”

The lanky graduate student Benny immediately spoke up and said, “That’s me.  And I bet I can eat more than anybody else.  He went to the grill and took a small sample on a plate. No one else spoke up.  Jason’s competitive drive kicked in and he said, “Watch me”, particularly since Benny had allowed the  kangaroo whack Jason.  There ensued a half-hour long contest of more and more grubs, but Benny finally gave up.

Jason simply said, “Now we know who is the true Australian”.

Swallow your Pride

Some people think a junket with a group of corporate executives is an excellent idea to promote bonding and cooperation.  Others think it can only lead to trouble when you get a bunch of very competitive men together.  It can only lead to trouble down the line.

I really had no opinion when I was invited to join such a group on a fishing trip to Guaymas Mexico.  I was a recent arrival in the organization, having joined from a position at Johns Hopkins University.  The company was a technology company catering to  military contracting and needed to recruit technology experts like me.  Although I really did not  have a management role, they thought my technology niche would enable a new  unit to form around me and they wanted me to get to know the other executives.

            There were about 10 of us in total.  All  had advanced degrees in various technical fields, and all had managed detailed technical projects for the government at various institutions and were now managing various branches of the company providing technical services to the government.  The most senior was Lawrence, a 43-year-old native Californian and former Department of Energy employee who was second in command to the CEO.  The two other heavy hitters were Stan, also a 34-year-old California native, and a former employee at various Naval research facilities.  Stan was managing director of most of the Southern California operations of the company.  The other senior member was Bart, also 34 years old from Chicago, a former employee at various Aerospace companies.  He was the manager of a large fraction of the Washington, DC area business located in suburban Virginia.  Bart is the man who hired me.  We had a long history, having been drinking buddies at Harvard. We also maintained ties after we both married and started families.  He was hoping to increase his business base by hiring me.  The other 6 were managers from other parts of the company and country.

            We left San Diego just after noon in 3 cars headed to Calexico, across the border form Mexicali, Mexico to catch a train bound for Guaymas.  I was in the car driven by Stan together with my buddy Bart.  From the start, it became apparent that alcohol was to be an important part of the trip. The first bottles of Dos Equis were popped as soon as we got in the car.  No problem for Bart and me.  We had always been comfortable with heavy drinking.  It turned out that Stan and Bart were also drinking buddies.  The stories didn’t take long to begin.

            Stan, “ Remember that time down by the harbor when we came out of  the bar with my Navy customer?   You were so drunk you climbed up on top of the car and pissed down the windshield.  Thanks.”

            Bart, “ Remember that time in that bar in Albuquerque when you tried to pick up that very ugly, very fat Navajo Indian girl?  Boy were you drunk.”

            When this went on for a while, I noticed a recurrent mention of Albuquerque.  It was only later that I learned that Stan was trying to poach Bart’s territory at the Air force Weapons lab.  Neither man mentioned it, just continuing to recount buddy-buddy stories.

            We were soon in Calexico where we grabbed some eats and headed into Mexicali to catch the train to Guaymas.  It was an overnight trek through the Sonoran Desert, scheduled to arrive early the next morning.  When we boarded, there were very few other folks on board, so we all ended up in  one car.  This was not luxurious.  In fact, the car was filthy, but everyone was relieved that you could buy beer on the run. The very dry landscape rolled past.

Figure 1: Sonoran Landscape

I ended up sitting with Sam, a fifty something engineer running a support unit for the Department of Energy facility at Livermore , California.  He was at least 6 foot 6 with heavily muscled shoulders and Jet-black hair.  I later learned he was part American Indian.  We spent most of the time talking about what it was like to work as a contractor to the federal government.  I listened intently.  This would soon be my way of life as well.  When we tired of that, we mused about the prospects of catching yellow-fin tuna in Guaymas.  This was new for us both, but we were both fishing veterans.

            As we talked I noticed something strange happening.  Of course, everybody was drinking-everybody but Lawrence, who I later learned was a tee-totaler.  First, Stan went and sat beside Lawrence and began talking quietly and earnestly to Lawrence, with Lawrence saying hardly a word.  After a half hour or so of that, Stan got up and went back to drinking.  Immediately thereafter, Bart did the same thing, chatting intimately with Lawrence.  This succession happened two- or three more-times during trip.  Hmm.

            Sam later filled me in.  The CEO had announced that a new position was going to be created with purview over both the East and West coast operations.  Wow,  these guys were going head-to-head.

            A little later I learned what a shithead Stan was.  I went to the vestibule between cars to smoke a cigarette.  Standing there doing the same thing was Stan.  He looked at me, and came over to me, and in a whisper, said, “ Ian, did you see that pot-bellied Mexican sitting near the door as you came out here.  When I walked past him, he stopped me and offered to sell me some weed.  I don’t trust him.  I don’t think he is a dealer.  I think he is a Narc.  We can’t have a Narc here tempting our people. We need to get rid of him.  Let’s get him out here on the pretense of buying, and then thrown him off the train.”

            I was stunned. Having been around plenty of boozers, I quietly said, “ Stan, you are not thinking straight.  That’s the booze talking.  There is almost certainly a real cop on board who will be checking with everybody if somebody goes missing.  Someone will certainly have seen him come to the vestibule and not return. You don’t even know if he is really a Narc.  You are just asking for big trouble.”  Fortunately, Stan listened.  Wow was that close.  I must confess.  I almost listened to him.

            Bleary-eyed, we arrived in Guaymas. Most, including me, having slept very little.  Some were still drunk, some nursing blinding hangovers.  And guess what.  Today is the day we go fishing. We are on a short weekend only.  It is Saturday.  We need to get back to California tomorrow so we can show up for work on Monday.

            We gathered our gear, arranged transportation, dropped our gear at a pre-arranged  hotel and headed for the docks. 

Figure 2; Guaymas Waterfront

Two boats had been reserved.  Now all the chatter was about who will catch the most fish, and more importantly who will catch the biggest fish.  Stan and Bart chose different boats.  As he was about to get on his boat, Stan hollered to Bart, “I bet you a thousand bucks I catch a bigger fish than you.”   Bart reluctantly accepted.  I was to go with Stan along with Sam and two others.  Bart got to be on the same boat with Lawrence and three others

            We were soon out on the Gulf of California.  It was a beautiful sunny warm day as the captain headed to what he knew to be Yellow-fin Tuna feeding grounds.  These gorgeous creatures run from 15 to 50 pounds in the Gulf, though they get much larger in more open waters.  Within about 45 minutes the captain said it was time to start fishing.   Two men were to fish off the back , two on one side, and one on the other side.  Sam and I started off the back and Stan was by himself on one side.  The captain’s mate had rigged poles for us all.  These were stout poles with heavy reels carrying at least 50-pound line.  We grabbed our poles and were directed to a wet well where there were live small fish used as  bait in the size range of 4 to 6 inches.   We baited our hooks and started to fish.

            The mate came to the stern and began dumping cut up smaller fish into the water.  Soon the seagulls were everywhere.  It  wasn’t long after the first bites began.   All five of us had fish on the hook.  With a bit of a struggle, I was able to land the first one. It was a disappointment.  A small one only about 10 pounds. The captain urged me to release the catch.  The others were having similar catches.  This went on for about an hour, with everybody releasing their catches. We had hit a school of small fry.  Then, nothing for the next hour.

The captain shouted, “ Well, we lost that school.  Let’s go find another.”  Off we went. For the next four or five hours we glided across the gulf for a while, stopped, the mate put out the  chum, the seagulls arrived, we put in our lines but nothing.  Finally nearing the end of the day, we hit another school.  We all began to bring in keepers, 25 pounds and above. Each one required extensive reeling and pulling and relaxing, letting them run a bit and then stopping them and finally bringing them to the boat where the mate got them landed.  Just as we  were ready to head back to port, Stan hooked a lunker that was apparent by the fight it was putting up. After 15 or 20 minutes, Stan got him to the boat.  Wow, a thirty-five-pound beauty.  My buddy Bart was going to have a hard time beating this one.  Ouch, a thousand bucks.

Figure 3; Yellow-fin Tuna

Was I ever surprised when Bart showed up with a bigger fish.  Apparently the fishing was quite slow on his boat, so he took to adding more weight to his line and fishing deep.   That technique brought a 45-pound grouper to his line, a fish that took close to a half hour to land.  He could not just drag it in as he only had 50-pound line.  He had to work it carefully so as to not snap the line.

Figure 4; Large Grouper

What ensued on land was a bit of a spectacle.

Bart said to Stan, “Where’s my money. I clearly landed the bigger fish.”

With that Stan went off, “No way will I pay you that money you shitface.  You cheated.  Everybody knows we were here to catch yellowfin.  That’s not a goddamn yellowfin.  That’s a trash species.”

Bart responded, “ Trash species my eye.  People from the Gulf of California to the Gulf of Mexico to the Pacific hire charters specifically to fish for this species.   They grow to hundreds of pounds and their flesh is considered more of a delicacy than Tuna.”

Stan couldn’t contain himself, “Bullshit.  We came here to fish for Yellow-fin not Grouper.   Where is your Yellow-fin?  Don’t you have  one.  I see.  Just trying to sneak in your trash fish.  No way.  I won the competition.  You owe me a grand.  Pay up dick-head.”

As I watched this unfold, I could see Lawrence imperceptibly moving his head right and left in a rejection of Stan’s tirade.  I think the others noticed as well.

The altercation was interrupted by the mates from the boats shouting that the catch had to be  transferred to one container to take to the hotel to cook dinner.  A big plastic tub was brought forward and the fish from both boats were transferred to the tub.

As the others began milling toward the taxis that were standing ready, I went over to the tub to inspect the catch.  I almost couldn’t believe my eyes.

I chuckled to myself and called to Bart, “ Hey Bart, get over here.  You have got to see this.”  

Bart arrived, took one look and began beaming.  He immediately shouted to Stan, “ Get your butt over here and see for yourself”.

            Stan came to see what the fuss was about, took one look and blanched.  Soon the rest of the group wanted to see what was happening, arrived one by one, took one look and laughed.  The captains and mates also joined the merriment, and many pictures were flashed. Hearing this Stan slunk off.

            In the tub, the gigantic mouth of the still thrashing grouper was busy trying to swallow Stan’s tuna.  At least one third of the fish had been engulfed by the grouper as the tuna tried to escape.  It was a sight to behold. 

From the back of the crowd I could hear the soft voice of Lawrence talking to some of the others, “ I guess we now know who won the competition”.

            The meal that night was fabulous.  Both the tuna and the grouper were excellent.   The sleep that night was delicious.

            On the long ride back to Mexicali on Sunday rumor had it that Lawrence had selected Bart for the coveted position.

Welcome to Adventuring with Ian and Brian

My name is Brian Beers.  I have had the privilege of having had a relatively high-profile career and the time and resources to travel to over 70 countries under adventuring circumstances.  I have accumulated an amazing number of stories as a result of all this travel and want to share them with friends and family.

          When my adventures only involve me, I will report them as they occurred.  However, when other people were involved, I have chosen to report them through my fictious alter-ego Ian.  In these stories all the characters and their actions are purely fictitious even though they may be based on actual characters.  Ian’s stories are pure fiction.  In addition, some of the stories center on Ian’s fictitious friends and family.

The stories cover fishing, canoeing, camping, hiking, exploring, wildlife, birding, birdwatching, travel, as well of many specific unique adventures.

          I hope you will enjoy these stories.  There is no commercial interest in this website. It is for casual entertainment only.