A fish story

[FlounderPounder]

My buddy wrote this, I thought it was pretty good

“It is going to be tight to make weigh in”.

I instinctively looked at my watch, then the compass, then the depthfinder. 90 minutes until the scales close, and we had about 25 to go. At least I hoped it was only 25.

“If we are on the right course, it shouldn’t be a problem”, I replied. “It’s clear enough that we should be able to get a bearing at 15 off”.

We pulled out the chart and checked again for the tenth time. Our only clue to our exact location was depth, which wasn’t much of a clue at all with little slope or contour to the bottom off the coast of New Jersey. We can only hope that we made the right assumptions as to our starting point. Then it just came down to a matter of course and speed.

The fish had fought hard for over 4 hours, and in the course of doing so had pulled us all over the ocean. We could easily have ended up 10 miles or more from where we hooked it. While the surface was still as glass calm as it was when we left the inlet at 5:00 a.m. that morning, unseen currents had to be factored into our estimates. In the days before the boat was equipped with GPS or even LORAN, the best we could do was make an educated guess. This was usually not a problem as long as we had visibility, but with the added time constraint of a tournament weigh in I could feel my tension building. I looked back at the big mako tied on the transom and shivered.

I was 16 that summer, heading towards my Junior year of high school. I had made many shark trips with my father on our single engine, wooden Chris Craft, usually with his buddies. This time, we had as crew just 2 friends of mine, who had never been out of sight of land on a boat. I was really hoping they would get to see something, and I was not disappointed.

In the slick calm water, the fish had come in on the surface, and we had seen her a long way off. The unmistakable cobalt blue dorsal fin of a mako, followed by the rhythmic undulation of the tail, swinging slowly when we first spotted her, then more urgently as she closed in on the scent trail we had deployed. She bypassed the scattered baits we offered, and honed in directly on the source of the attraction, the chum bucket dunking lazily off our hull. All 8 eyes on board froze in rapt fascination as the fish came towards, then under, then around the boat, searching for the meal her senses were telling her was there. At least 9 feet and 500 pounds, her underwater flight was a graceful as any hawk in the sky.

I grabbed a still-frozen mackerel out of the cooler, cut it into 5 or 6 pieces, and threw a couple behind the boat. A second later the shark was on them, rolling on her side and breaking the surface of the water with her entire length as she gulped them down as easily as you or I would eat a grape. As her mouth opened, a white eyelid slid up from underneath her black eye. The pure white of her belly was a shocking contrast to see as she rolled for the tidbits.

“Rig one up”, I told my father as I continued to practically hand feed the fish. My buddies, who had never seen anything bigger than a flounder, were spellbound. It was a fascinating sight, and continues to be burned into my memory almost 30 years later.

My father handed me the rigged bait, but I hesitated. It felt almost criminal to trick this magnificent animal. I probably would have been happy just watching for hours, but then I reminded myself that this is the fish I have dreamed about for years, threw the bait in the water and grabbed the rod.

The bait vanished just like the others. I waited for the pull but it never came; the swivel at the top of the 15’ leader stayed in place. The fish was circling too close to the boat to take any line.

“DON’T SET THE HOOK”, my father yelled. “I’ll move us off’.

I almost laughed, as I had no intention of driving any hooks home at that particular moment. A mako will usually launch 15 feet into the air at the first sting of a hook, and I had visions of 500 pounds of angry shark raining down on our cockpit.

The boat in gear, we began to move off. But still the swivel stayed put. “She’s following us”, I told the captain. We picked up speed several times before the fish finally moved safely away.

I put the reel in gear, came tight and set the hook. In my life I had hooked maybe 20 makos prior to this, and each one behaved differently. This one did exactly nothing. I could feel her weight through the bend of the rod, but could not move her and she did not move off.

Slowly though she realized she was hooked, and the fight began. For the first 2 hours she fought more like a thresher, staying deep and pulling hard. But no blistering runs that are characteristic of a mako. My father kept the boat on top of her, and I sweated out the grudge match in the building summer heat.

2 hours in she changed tactics, and set off a spectacular series of jumps and surface runs. Each jump brought a series of shouts from our crew. They had heard me describe a leaping mako many times, but to witness it in person is something quite different. My father kept the boat close, and I tried to keep the belly out of the line. Arms aching, I was wishing for a fighting chair. The heat and lack of air movement were stifling.

After 4 hours, she and I were totally spent. I tried to hand off the rod, but there were no takers. Thoughts of rest, of water, of cool shade dominated my mind. But it was then that the shark started to show her belly on the surface, and the end game was near. Boating a mako shark is usually a tricky and dangerous business, but this one had given all she had in the fight and had no more when the flying gaff struck home. A couple tail ropes and she was ours. I tried to lift my arms for the high fives being offered, but found I could not. It took over an hour to be able to unclench my hands.

We dragged the fish by the tail for over an hour in order to drown it so we could safely bring her aboard. She came to life several times, twisting and thrashing, but it was too late. We would normally have dragged her all the way in, but with the tournament deadline looming and the need to make headway we rigged the gin pole and carefully pulled her aboard.

At 7:00 we saw the condos in Asbury Park and north, and could see that we had picked the right course. It would still be close, but barring any problems we would make it. We radioed the marina and told them we would be weighing a fish.

We made the weigh station with ten minutes to spare, and what a site it was! The last day of a multi-day tournament brought spectators to the dock, jostling for sight lines with the current leaders, reporters and dock hands. All eyes were on us as we tied up alongside and the blocks were lowered to accept our fish. I glanced at the leaderboard, and immediately knew that the weighing would be only a formality.

It was then that I saw her. Standing behind the rope that separated the spectators from the weigh station was the girl that made my heart stop. She must have been about my age and was with her parents, her father was standing behind with his hands on her shoulders. I wish I could describe her, but her clothes, the details of her face, even the color of her hair have been swept from my memory with the passage of time. But the essence of her has not. Our eyes locked, and I seemed to travel through time with her. I saw dates, parties, a marriage, babies, grandchildren, growing old with her. An entire happy lifetime in seconds. Somehow I knew she felt the same.

The rest of the scene was a blur, our eyes never parted. I was shoved into the frame for a picture, slapped on the back, questioned and interviewed. Someone was yelling my name to help, and I noticed the fish was being lowered back into our boat. I jumped down to help, useless with distraction.

The fish secured, I noticed something on the dock. It was a single perfect shark tooth that must have dislodged when they lowered the fish. 2 inches long, it was stuck vertically in the dock like a dagger, gleaming brilliant white in the falling sun. Without conscious thought, I jumped back to the dock, pulled out the tooth and approached the girl. She raised her hand to mine when I held it out for her, and as our skin touched I felt an electricity I have not felt before or since. Our eyes met again for the last time, and I turned out of her life forever, truly heartbroken.

Hemmingway said that one can live their life entire in the span of 3 days, but that is much too generous. That day I had experienced the best and worst that life has to offer in quite a bit less.

[shoefish]

That was well worth the read. I could see it in my mind's eye. Tell your buddy that he is very talented, and thank him for sharing.

[canyonjunkie]

wow, that was quite the read. really well written and an awesome story. thanks for sharing

[sjogren]

Very good thanks!!

[Wave Loudly]

Very enjoyable.

[hotshot1]

very nice, Maybe that chick will read this