Close Encounter With a Fish Twice as Large As Our Boat!

Close Encounter With a Fish Twice as Large As Our Boat!

I operated a yacht charter firm for years. Most population would charter the Hatteras or Bertram for sports fishing. I used the Fairline-40 for uninhabited islands explorer cruises. However, as a sports fishing addict, looking that Big Game Fish is all the time the "Big Boys' Sport" --the ultimate badge of machismo.

Dream Interpretation Teeth

Anyone who owns and operates a charter fishing outfit must have one, two, or more-spooky fish stories that are best not told--except within the fishing fraternity. Ah-what the heck-maybe I will part with tradition.

Before I started my business, a friend of mine bought a Dusky--probably about 25 feet in length- asked a few buddies to accompany him on his maiden voyage. It took less than 5 minutes for us to perceive he was a fishing rookie. Not only did he deal with his boat like a nervous novice, but when he took up his fishing rod--something did not look right. He just did not have the look, and he didn't have the salt of a real fishing hand. For starters, if you are planning a fishing trip, tell your buddies so that each someone can tell his wife or girlfriend not to fix dinner; not to worry about the time you will return; not to call the police if you stay overnight, and, most of all--so that your friends know to bring personalized fishing gear. It so happened that the invitation to test drive turned into an impromptu sports fishing attempt--notice how carefully I chose my words. I did not say fishing expedition.

Mortal Fishing Sins.

We committed every fishing sin imaginable. The day in demand was so clear and windless, that half hour after an aircraft passed overhead, its trail of smoke stayed motionless like woolen blankets suspended over invisible posts. The ocean was so clear that we could see the base of our seaside mooring. When you feel guilty about the discoloration you cause while pulling up anchor, then you know the visibility is matchless.

We had the usual coolers full of beers, four Penn International reels and two fighting chairs. It became definite that our host was curious in learning the ropes: he even humbled himself to say so. He had every type of plastic lure and even live bait--actually live bait is a misnomer because all so-called live bait is dead by the time you are ready to use it. We had freezing ballyhoo.

Half a case of beer and not even one strike. Worse yet: not even a ripple on the ocean--just slow rolling waves. Suddenly, about twenty yards in front of us, something very large pierced the surface. I would have thought: top of a package that slipped off an ocean liner except that it was spotted (brown and beige). We had just convinced the owner to let an additional one take the helm. After all, we had one of the best sports fishing captains in our midst. "He knew game fish on a first name basis." The captain slowed to a stop, any way the momentum combined with the stillness of the waves caused us to drift within 10 yards of the large spotted floating log.

At that time I had never seen a lemon shark. I had never even heard of one. So when I realized this monster was a provocative fish, my initial reaction was to reach for my Beretta. Jesse Weste, a senior member of the Antigua Sports Fishing Club was at the wheel then, functioning as captain. Unfortunately Jessie is no longer with us. As is said in the Torah "He went on to sleep with his fathers." He was regarded as, not only the most experienced sports fishing someone in the Caribbean Fishing circuit, but the luckiest as well. The captain rammed in a reverse gear so suddenly that I fell. As I scrambled for my gun, he shouted "No...are you crazy?" Pull in all lines...pulls in all lines."

We had the two outriggers plus an additional one two lines out as we were already trawling for two hours. I scrambled to my feet to take a photo and the huge thing obligingly arched its long body. The water was so clear that I was able to take a shot of the arched body below the water line. any way when the photo came out, I was able to see the submerged part of the fish very clearly. It was over 40 feet. I remember when the captain turned to leave the danger zone, at one point the Dusky was parallel to the fish and it was at least twice the size of our boat. That incident I never forgot.

The Other Fishing Scare:

My father-in law lived in the broad Alpine region of Europe. Fishing to him meant walking to the lake or river with his pipe, flask and coffee. That was his underground head time--as all fishing lovers must have. I was embarrassed when he showed me his catch. So I invited him Game Fishing to the Caribbean. The day I had planned, it was very rough. perfect for tough and seasoned anglers, but not a novice like my father-in-law, so I rescheduled his trip and decided instead to go out with my scheduled captain and crew.

The Bertram sliced the waves like a hot knife though freezing butter. Just then, we saw a floating log and circled it. Floating logs in the Atlantic regularly mean barnacles and oysters growing--small fish feeding, and larger fish looking for the small fish. Sure enough: dung, dung--the outriggers popped simultaneously. We figured: Tuna. The first one we pulled in at last weighed 85 pounds. We were pulling in the second one when all of a sudden the tension of the line slackened. We figured: missed strike. Naturally, figuring that I had lost the fish.

I decided to reload (change bait). I did feel a dinky resistance on the line: any way I view I had picked up some sea weed, sea moss or a plastic bag. As the line broke the face, there was the head of a tuna dripping blood. Just then rows of angry teeth glared at me. I did not have adequate time to account for his message but I believe it went something like this: How Dare You Take Away My Breakfast?

The angry reef shark hit the Bertram one immense butt and all except the captain fell. "Pull in pull in." Since we already had the lines readying them for fresh bait, as we scrambled to take in the remaining line, the angry critter head-butt us three more times before we could outpace it.

The residue of his breakfast--the head--head weighed 16 pounds.

Do not dream to ask me how big the shark was. first of all I do not know and secondly I would not talk to the question: All I will say on that matter: It was very large indeed.

I used to love jumping over in the deep Atlantic during fishing trips: guess why I do not do that anymore? "So you are the guy who stole my lunch eh?"

Basil Hill old owner of See by Sea Charters is now V. P of U.N.I.A, author of dozens of published EzineArticles and author of The Golden Fleece Found--See below!