Fish Don't Care
Seven years is a long time, even under the achingly slow pace of a South American country that's going through a political upheaval. (The same day the mudslides hit, the Venezuelan people voted to authorize a new constitution that the recently elected Chavez promised would bring more democratic reforms to the country.) While many like to debate the ramifications of Chavez's tight grip on the country, I'd prefer to just pass and say that the fish don't seem to care one bit.

A few die-hards like Noling, Grant and Lee Alonzo on the Bud Man hung on and continued to catch fish like gangbusters; they just didn't have much company.

And once Chavez started ranting about the United States, things just got worse for the local captains and crews struggling to make a living. I even had to cancel an October Marlin University session in 2003 because I couldn't get a single person to sign up for the trip.

After my stellar trip in May of 2004, I knew the marlin bite remained as strong as ever. And after hearing all the reports from Carter on the South Paw and Grant on his new ride the Waterman, I wanted to get down there and take some good blue marlin photos (which are in short supply, by the way!). Since Carter and the South Paw's owner, Bob DeGabrielle, had offered to host a trip several times, I finally found the time as the bite started to pick up. As a bonus, my brother tagged along on this trip, his first time on an assignment with me in my 15 years working on the magazine.

And typical of the thinking that's permeating the country, the first thing my father asked upon hearing about the trip was, "Is it safe?"

More than Pleasant
I've never enjoyed arriving at the gray, concrete Caracas airport. The low ceilings and drab interior portrayed a stern countenance for arriving visitors. The push-button, red-light/green-light customs clearance system didn't help much either. (If you push the button and get a red light, then your bags are pulled aside and searched; if it's green, you can go on.)

But after the short flight in from San Juan (most take the 3 1/2-hour flight out of Miami), the Caracas airport I expected to find failed to materialize. Instead, we were greeted by a bright, brand-new interior that immediately lifted my mood. A short walk later, we came to the new immigration area — once again, brand spanking new with modern, soaring ceilings and gleaming floors. The pleasant young lady behind the desk asked us if this was our first visit to Venezuela and what we would be doing. I said, "Nope, I've been here before. We're going fishing." True to his very quiet nature, my brother never said a peep. She smiled and stamped our passports, and we were in. (I have to say, it was a much more pleasant exchange than I would ever expect to get at more popular destinations.)

We got our bags, handed our customs forms to a young fellow in civilian clothes and walked out into the hustle of the airport crowd, looking for Carter and our ride to Mango Marina. He wasn't there.

After a few quizzical looks from my brother that said, "What have you got me into now?" he still wouldn't speak. I told him to stay put while I looked for Carter. Just at that moment, a fellow came up and asked me in Spanish if I was a fisherman — all of my Marlin garb must have tipped him off. He said he saw the fellas looking for us and told me to stay put. A few minutes later, a round, smiling Carter materialized out of the chaos.

After I cracked a few jokes about his belly (in return for him scaring me near to death by not being at the gate), we walked to the car for the 20-minute ride to the marina. The crowded urban scenery hadn't changed much, but there was no rioting in the streets, and even though I was looking for them, I didn't get a bunch of strange looks in the airport for being a gringo in Venezuela.

Louis Angel Rincon's Mango Marina was also exactly as remembered — a little piece of paradise tucked behind a 10-foot wall. Arriving in the early afternoon, we cracked a few cold ones around the pool and waited for the boats to come back and tell us what was biting. I got to catch up with several old friends who were hanging around the dock, and everyone seemed to be doing just fine.

Hitting the Peak
It seemed we hit it just right. As the Vintage, with Capt. Mike "Dewey" Price, backed into the slip, four blue-and-white marlin release flags hung limp from his halyards on the windless day. "It was perfect," he said. "Plenty of bites and pretty much flat calm for here … you guys are going to kill it tomorrow."

After a fitful night's sleep, we boarded the South Paw, a 62-foot Bayliss, and headed out to where the boys were catching them the day before. As we arrived on the spot, another boat started backing down in front of us, a small blue jumping off the transom. "This looks like a good spot," said Carter with a wry smile, and I headed down the ladder to get in on the action.

About five minutes after lines in, our first mate Alberto Sanchez started reeling in our experimental Ilander/circle-hook combo (See Tips & Techniques, page 42) after if fouled itself and started doing strange things in the spread. Evidently, the fouled bait still looked pretty good to the little 150-pound blue that piled onto it about halfway back to the boat. Sanchez dropped the bait back without saying a word and hooked the fish before anyone else on board knew he had a bite — pretty much par for the course for one of the best light-tackle anglers in the world.

He quickly passed the rod to my brother, who got his first glimpse of a blue marlin as the little fish jumped on the horizon. After a 10-minute tussle, complete with some aggressive boat handling on Carter's part, the blue came alongside for a quick release. Fifteen minutes into the fishing and we'd already let one go.

The action on that first day alone went on to justify making the trip: We caught three blues out of six bites. Other boats did much better. Capt. Steve Richardson on the Sniper caught six blues that day, and Capt. Butch Cox on the Prime Time caught five. Capt. Jimmy Grant did a quick poll on the radio and said the eight boats on the water caught 32 blue marlin.

We played hit or miss with the fish over the next three days, always getting out shots, but not always making the connection. My brother took the majority of the bites and missed his share, but he caught a few as well. We ended up catching six blue marlin total, but should have caught at least 10. While the fishing slowed a bit during the week, the crew started back up again after I left, and the bite continued to remain strong right up into May.