Author's Note: Originally written for New Zealand Fishing News, this article should appeal to most bluewater anglers. It points out a few favourite theories of mine, most of which I still believe in !

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It was a fine morning out on the Condor Bank, 18 miles WSW of the Azorean island of Faial and over 1000 miles west of Lisbon in the mid-Atlantic. The warmth of the brightening and calm day was the perfect compliment to the drone of the cruising Cummins' beneath my feet. Down below, in SHANGHAI's saloon, sat a large Frenchman, irritably arguing with my crew Jeff about the spread. It was the first day of Roget's trip, and he was insisting on using his own lures and hook-rigs instead of our regular pattern of lures and our 7732 hook-sets. I knew what was going on - the voices below were a discordant ripple on the peace I was experiencing with my cup of tea.

This scenario happens to every big-game crew in the world. We all develop systems and methods that work best for us, but unfortunately it is often those charters who insist on interrupting that pattern who find themselves to blame for the poor results that ensue. Both Jeff and I had suspected earlier that this was going to be one of those days, but it seemed such a shame to ruin the outlook with pessimism. As we droned on, the sounder suddenly showed signs of life beneath me - 600 feet of water, the temperature an azure 78 degrees and Manx shearwaters dancing over the sea - bait rippled everywhere. It was 8.15 am and the riggers went down as we slowed on the edge of the bank.

Roget's chosen spread had been in the water barely twenty minutes before the late Jo Franck's distinctive rasp came thru on channel 77, making me jump.

"We've got one on over here, Englishman, haven't you bloody caught one yet ?". I could sense the grin behind the voice.

"It's eaten my bloody wasp again !!", the gravelly voice continued in triumph.

The 'wasp' in question was a rather battered Marlin Magic Bog Eye in some tattered black and red skirts. It was on a winning streak, so much so that two of our own lures were decorated in colours of a similar fashion, more to cater for clients' whims than for my own feelings which were that it might be the head doing the damage, not the colours. Glancing over to starboard I could see the DOUBLE HEADER going astern nearly half a mile away, but before I could reply a French head poked its way above the top of the ladder.

"Izz ze boat over zere 'ooked up ?" I nodded, knowing what was coming.

"Do you know what lure zey 'ave 'ooked zer marlin on ?"

I explained what I knew. There was a grimace on the face opposite me, then a grin and sudden rush down the ladder. Seconds later there was the sound of a reel being turned and the long corner bait shot towards the boat. I looked down to see Jeff hunched over the covering board, shaking his head resignedly - it wasn't even 9.00am. Within a minute another lure had been dispatched to the wake from the Frenchman's cavernous kit-bag, this one sporting black and red skirts.

Things went from bad to worse. Within an hour every boat on the bank had had a bite or released a fish, and by mid-day we were still waiting for our first visitation while Jo had released two. By my count we had changed lures fourteen times. Our orchestrated campaign against the blue marlin of the Condor Bank, so carefully planned and created over the preceding weeks, was starting to come apart in the face of stiff Gallic resistance.

Here's what I think was happening. SHANGHAI was an old 1972 Hatteras, running sweetly with a pair of recently installed 480 Cummins in her bowels. She ran quietly, with little noise and harmonic disturbance. Over the preceding weeks Jeff and I had started to release blue marlin on far more regular basis than at the start of the season when the fish had avidly attacked the baits behind larger, noisier boats. It seemed as though after their migration thru the vastness of the empty Atlantic the fish had arrived on the banks surrounding the islands with a vengeance, hungry and unafraid of anything. On SHANGHAI we had missed out, big-time, an invisible ghost amongst the roar of louder engines.

But, as the season progressed, we had started to catch fish, and now at the end of the season we were on fire, picking up fish left and right as the booming exhausts of other boats failed to raise fish or frightened them away. Our plan had materialized into a spread that we proudly thought catered specifically for shy fish that had seen and heard it all for three months. There was a large bait on the short corner, all action and splash, to attract fish out of the depths, while a steady swimming straight-running bait ran behind it - easy to catch and eat, this lure had already caught more than 25 fish in five weeks. On the other side, on the long corner, was the very first prototype Andromeda, a black and purple creation that was catching fish like no tomorrow. It sat alongside and slightly behind the terror on the short bait and was a magnet for the larger fish we encountered. It swam straight and true, generally being eaten without pre-amble at the deepest point of its cyclic dive. On the long rigger behind it, we had a Black Bart 1656 in black and red, a staple bait for two weeks, not far behind its larger cousins in success. On the other, short rigger was a Marlin Candy, equally at home catching fish in Mid Atlantic as all the others. As a measure of the success of our tactics, we only had one bite in those last few weeks on the short corner bait, which was our aim. Our hook-up ratio was through the roof and we were a crew on a roll (though we were only making up for lost time from the first half of the season, of course !!!)

But this day we had Roget on board, and behind the transom swam the complete reverse of what we were trying to achieve.

Up short was a frightening combination of inedibility and athleticism. On one side rode a rooster-tailing Henry, on the other shimmied a badly made Big Blue Cavitator, a mis-aligned insert causing the lure to roll from side to side, slipping this way and that. The lure on the short rigger was a Williamson copy of a Super Plunger, and it ripped across the surface, creating a maelstrom of noise on a flat sea. On the long rigger was a bright pink Wide Range, not my favourite colour in the Atlantic, and while we had happily ran only four lures all season, Roget's beloved 80-pound outfit was now out as an unwanted fifth, so far down the back on the centre-rigger it was out of sight - the lure itself being a Wide Range copy that Roget had made at home out of the soft plastic commonly used for plastic worms.

The instant that lure had gone out, making a lazy zip on the surface way down on the horizon, Jeff and I had both put a decent lump of money on it being bitten - of all the lures Roget was making us run, this would be the one. And so it fatally proved.

The hours ticked by under the hot sun and still we remained fishless amidst some very vocal bantering on the VHF from our fellow crews. Then, at 4:38pm, Poseidon reluctantly pointed a gnarled finger at us from above and a fish ate the centre rigger lure as we had predicted. From the bulge of water that preceded the bite we knew it was a good fish, just how good was shown in its first surge as it revealed a prodigious bulk. It was the sort of leviathan that serious anglers visit the Azores for. Either too big or too lazy to leap totally clear of the water, it went off westwards in a series of large splashes that brought much of the fleet noisily to life on the radio.

As the reel unwound below us after the pin had snapped open, Roget lumbered to the chair, struggling with the rod, as Jeff brought the other lures in at warp speed. Even as the first two hit the deck I was turning the boat back after the fish, leaving a 20 yard belly of line off the rod-tip back towards the fish so we didn't have to worry about turning the chair in those first few important minutes, and also so I didn't have to worry about the angler and slack line. I then had a choice to make - to go after the fish so we did not lose too much more line and leave Jeff struggling to bring in the other two lures, or to wait for Jeff and watch the reel empty. The reel shrieked to me, Roget shouted an urgent battle-cry and so I hurried after the fish, leaving Jeff struggling - cursing under his breath at me, at the fish, at the fish's mother and at all parts of a country full of snails and frog-legs. The VHF squawked loudly with excitement……

The next ten minutes were spent plodding after the fish at a steady pace suited to Roget's fumbling retrieve. When the Power-Gum rigger mark came out the water I slowly and simply turned the boat and started after the last few yards of line with alternate bursts on each engine of power astern. It was all too easy. Already Roget had reminded us of his intention "to keel a feesh if beeg enough" for the record, and so with everything under control Jeff started bringing down the gaffs from where they hung on the tower-legs. For the first time in five years I was getting the cutlery ready for a big fish and it wasn't making me happy, even if I knew the beast in question was certainly going to do the job of creating some paperwork at the IGFA. I was also somewhat concerned at just how we were going to deal with this fish by ourselves. With a rather green fish too, if all went to plan……. I mentally made a list of where the gaffs were, where the knives were, where the pliers were, and what colour Jeff's shorts were and would colour they would appear to be 12 feet under as I swam after them….. (I knew he wouldn't let go and I was certain he would pretend he couldn't hear me that far down)……

Twelve minutes after hook-up I brought Shanghaii hissing in towards the fish across a flat sea, and we were within 50 feet of her when she finally became aware of the boat, stopped in the water, stuck her head out of the sea while turning towards us on the surface and then opened her mouth - the lure and hook-set simply falling out of a cavernous bucket-like black hole. The moment froze in time, stopping Jeff in his reluctant process of setting out gaffs and eliciting a chorus of Gallic oaths from the chair, which rocked in anger. The image was so clear and final I did not even gun the boat, despite protestations from below. I watched as the fish slid away out of sight, ponderous in its brown bulk, SHANGHAI rocking in the aftermath of our rush astern.

On the bridge I shrugged a mental shoulder, and half-happily put the boat into forward gear with a wry smile. After a minute or so there was a heavy tread on the bridge ladder and the Gallic oaths grew louder.

I cannot repeat what I said, dear reader, at this juncture. Roget later admitted that he was unused to such fluent French colloquialism from an Englishman. I may even have made some words up, but suffice to say that while the next four days were spent chasing hooked fish, a rather large bag lay unopened in the corner of the saloon. Thankfully Jo, whose long-standing client Roget was, leant on my side of the argument. No more soft lures, no more unwanted lures and we were back to our orchestrated campaign and our regular fine-tuned spread - and the fish. Unfortunately for Roget, our fat lady from the Condor didn't visit us again that trip……

Later that night both Jeff and I agreed the fish had probably been around the 1200lb mark. Many beers were noisily consumed. Often.

Consider these points:

• Early season fish may be more aggressive in a given area before too much activity ensues.

• If you charter a boat, listen to what the crew have to say about recent fishing before insisting they do what you want - please

• Do not insist on using your equipment, ask instead and be prepared to listen - please

• Quiet lures may have a better hook-up ratio than noisy ones

• Soft-heads may not be first choice lures for some people; fish can bite down on them making setting hooks difficult

• It might not be the colours of a lure that are making it 'hot' - it might be the 'noise' of the head instead….. skipjack tuna may jump and feed differently from garfish, for example

• Having the ability to berate difficult people in their mother-tongue can be an advantage at some times……..