The One That Got Away

I know I am so inconsistent a correspondent in my postings as to be unworthy of the name, but I have an explanation, if not an excuse. Last season, offshore fishing deteriorated in direct relationship to the vast quantities of freshwater pouring into the northern Gulf as a result of the record flooding in the Mississippi Valley. Sargassum disappeared entirely, as did most of the bait, and it was not unusual to find miles long lines of lily pads 80 nm offshore. By July, all-day fishing expeditions had become one fish trips, if you were lucky. A yellowfin tuna here, a dolphin there, and an occasional billfish bite. But some of the one fish trips nevertheless produced memorable catches.

This is a 55 pound dolphin we caught aboard Wayne Lewis' Bella Maria, a money fish in any year in any northern Gulf tournament. Of course, we weren't in a tournament.

This fat sail was the star of another one fish trip, this time aboard Hammerhead. The angler and poseur, er, poser, is Bobby Cresap, who, along with Tenser Mallette, is a founding member of The Blind Hog Club, as in "Even a blind hog finds an acorn every now and then."

But overall the pickings were slim, and there just wasn't much to write about as the season wore on and then disappeared altogether.

But this year is going to be another kettle of fish entirely, pun intended. This year there will be no flooding upriver, and, hopefully, there will be no oil well disaster. The winter was mild, so the water is already warm. And the portents are promising.

Which finally brings me to last weekend and the first foray of the 2012 season.

I am driving to Destin last Thursday, and my phone rings. It's Wayne Lewis, who tells me that the Bella Maria is in the yard having her bottom painted, but that an eddy of 70+ degree blue water from the Loop Current has spun in and curled around to the north of the Spur. To add icing to the cake, the forecast for the first time in months wasn't 15 to 20 knots, 4 to 6 feet. No, the forecast was wind out of the east at around 10 knots, seas 1 to 2 feet. He was just wondering, he said slyly, if the Hammerhead might be venturing out. Yessiree bobtail. Hammerhead is good to go. Two phone calls later we had a full crew - Eric Songer and Tenser Mallette were laid on for Saturday.

Hammerhead cleared East Pass at first light on St. Patrick's Day in a moderate fog and flat seas, and headed for the Nipple, which lay on the western edge of the blue water eddy. Running out, I asked Wayne what was the earliest in the year he knew of a marlin being hooked out of Destin. He said the earliest he had caught a marlin in all his years of fishing offshore was April 24, and knew of none earlier. Not an auspicious answer, but, hey, there might be some wahoo around. Maybe a blackfin tuna or two. And you certainly can't catch anything tied up in the slip.

We put out our spread between the 131 Hole and the Nipple in blue green water and trolled east, looking for an edge. We eventually found ourselves in blue, blue water, but there was no hard edge, just a transition zone. Late in the morning, we located a weed line with real sargassum. A wonder to behold after last year, but there was nothing on it. Then another weed line farther on. Still nada. By 2 pm we were just inside the Desoto Canyon after 6 hours of draggin'em without a knockdown. I allowed as how we should head for the house at 2:30 if nothing had happened by then. Wayne agreed, and suggested we troll right down the Spur as our last gasp for the day.

And this is where the FUBAR that followed began. Wayne climbs into the tower to look for anything in the water ahead, but he isn't steering, because I am at the helm down below. I set the autopilot, and begin to look at the bottom contours on the chart plotter, but I don't tell Wayne the autopilot is on. Eric is lolling on the helm deck lounge, half asleep. Tenser is looking back at the spread, but in a "I ain't seen nothing in six hours and ain't expecting to see nothing now" kind of way. In other words, having spent all the time, effort, and money to get to the right place at the right time, none of us are ready for The Bite.

Tenser tenses. (What else would a Tenser do?) "Something on the right long."

"Huh?" I turn to look, but don't see anything, probably because I am approaching bat status, vision wise.

"Something on the right long," Tenser says again. Now he is in the cockpit, and I am right behind him, looking, not seeing. He grabs the right long rod. But something doesn't compute for me. The reel is spinning, but the line is still in the AFTCO roller clip. And the clicker on the TLD reel ( a 30, but spooled with 550 yards of 50 pound test and set with 10 pounds of drag) is so quiet compared to my old Penn Internationals that I do not really hear it over the engines, probably because I am approaching post status, hearing wise. (For those who care about clips and other such arcana, see the Epilogue.)

I still don"t get it. I look down at the reel. Spinning. I look up at the clip. Closed. I look at the rod. Not bowed.

"Fish on!" Tenser shouts up to Wayne. Eric is in the cockpit now. OK, fish on. I guess. I pull down the right long rigger line and open the clip manually. Now, with the rod tip no longer pointed at the clip and the line not running straight off the reel and up and out over the roller, the rod loads up big time.

"Marlin!"

But it's not a marlin. It's a MARLIN.

The ocean behind the boat explodes. Literally. Out of a great geyser of white water rises the biggest goddamn fish I have ever seen in my life. Tenser, who makes his living measuring things, will later say she was at least 10 feet long, maybe 12 feet, and that guess is made at a hundred yards distance or more. She is huge. She greyhounds, managing to get her entire body out of the water for a second. Big. Thick. Mae West chest. And angry. Head shaking, tail thrashing. It looks like depth charges are going off behind the boat.

I clear the dredge on the right corner, and Eric reels up the bird teaser on the left rigger, but doesn't get it in the boat. We then all stand mesmerized by the spectacle, one that none of us in the cockpit have ever seen before, at least not on this scale. Nothing else in the water is cleared.

Line is melting off the reel. The fish has gone right and forward. Time is running out with the line.

"Go after her, Wayne! Go after her!" I shout. " Turn the boat! Turn, turn!"

Wayne frantically turns the wheel to port as the boat goes straight ahead, spilling more line. But Hammerhead doesn't turn. She is on autopilot. Wayne doesn't know it; I have forgotten it; and neither of us figures it out.

Hmm. Time for Plan B?

"Back down! Back down, for God's sake!" No reason not to panic at this point. And back we go, chewing up the two short lines and lures that are still in the water, and barely missing the bird teaser dangling on the left rigger.

Too little, too late. I stand next to Tenser watching the last of the line peeling off the reel. I see the gold spool through the wraps. Resignation. Not despair. Just resignation. The line gets to the knot and breaks with a loud pop. It's over. Three minutes. Maybe five at the outside. The fish is gone, probably swimming to her eventual death because she is trailing 550 yards of line with a 9/0 hook and a 10 inch lure in her mouth.

That is the only sad part of the whole experience for me, and it is our fault. We were unworthy of such a fish on that day. But, my God, how glorious the whole thing was. What a magnificent animal. What a privilege to see her. And on my boat.

We are initiates in a fraternity to which few belong, and it feels good, outcome notwithstanding. It's why we go offshore.

Experience is often a hard teacher, and it is almost always the best teacher. The core of the regular Hammerhead crew - me, Tenser, and Eric - learned a lot the hard way a week ago, but the next time we hook a truly great marlin - and there will be a next time - we will catch her. Standing up, not in a chair. And on 50 pound test line. When that day comes, we will be covered in piscatorial glory, and, undoubtedly, we will be insufferable on the dock come Miller Time - for a long time.

But until then, we will have to make do with the photo below, which is all we have to show for The One That Got Away.

Epilogue

Eric Songer, the father of 60% of my grandchildren, merits special mention in this dispatch from the fleet. It was he who went under the boat with a mask and snorkel 60 nm from shore in 1500 feet of water to cut away the leaders, line and lures wrapped on the shafts and props. In the process, he cut his hand on a prop blade through a diving glove, yet persevered despite a bit of blood in the water, always a dicey proposition in the Gulf of Mexico. And then he "stitched" his own cut with super glue and electrical tape. This is in the best tradition of the naval service, as they say, and a credit to Hammerhead.

I put on the AFTCO roller clips instead of my usual Rupp Klickers (pin clips) to let line run out smoothly when fishing with circle hooks and natural baits, and they certainly worked as designed, a fact I failed to recognize in the heat of battle because of lack of experience with them. That and the fact the clip was too tight. I need to loosen the clip setting to just enough to hold the bait/lure if using rollers. But I may go back to pin clips and twisting the line or using rubber bands unless fishing natural baits. I like to hear that "ping" when the line comes out of the clip. Not hearing it (or seeing it) apparently confuses an old man. We'll see. (By the by, the one that got away ate a dorado colored small Cabo Shaker with a 9/0 hook on ten feet of 300 pound leader.)

Clear. Clear. Clear. Every time..

Hit Standby on the autopilot at the cry of "fish on" regardless of whether you think the Auto is on. And do it every time.

Be ready to chase ahead or back down with speed on every hook up.

If you are fishing, then fish. Pay attention. Don't laze around with a rectocrainial inversion just because nothing is happening, and has been not happening for hours on end.

Don't be discouraged. If at first you don't succeed, what? That's right. Try, try again.