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Shaggy We were living in the north
Pacific coast of Costa Rica. Shaggy was pretty much a local superstar
fisherman there. He used to leave his bag of handlines and lures at the
house as we lived at the beach and he lived in a little town about five
miles inland. He would stop by for string or lures, or to catch a siesta
under the coconut palms during the mid-day heat. One day he stopped by to
announce that he was going to catch a shark. Every evening he would show
back up at the house to drop off the lines and bum a little money for a
cigarette before he left for home. Each evening I would ask him what he
caught. He would frown and give a little shake of the head. Every morning
that week he came back, picked up the shark line and headed up the beach. "Como le va?" (How's it going?) I asked him. He indicated that things were fine. I asked him if he had caught anything. He shook his head, yes. I asked him what he caught. Un tiburon.(A shark). Shaggy is not one to easily give up information. I asked him how big was it. He held his hand above his head. I asked him where it was. He said that he sold it. I said, "Bull." He lifted the hat from his head letting loose a shower of colones. I later talked to someone who saw Shaggy catch the shark. He said it was a big fish, probably over seven foot long. He said that Shaggy battled it for over two hours, keeping it swimming parallel to the beach so that he could follow along with it. Quite a crowd of locals and tourists gathered, impressed at what a thin Costa Rican shoreline fisherman could accomplish with only a handline and considerable skill.
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