Either way, at this beach I went deep-sea fishing. I've only been fishing in the ocean once before this so I couldn't consider myself experienced but this particular trip was very memorable. At 5am we set sail for the blue seas (which at this point were still that creepy black that made people cautious at night). My mother, dad, brother, captain, first man and myself were the only people on this boat but it's not like it could support anymore than that. Not that it was a small boat, no. You've seen this kind. They're all in a long, long line against the docks and every single one seems to have the exact same poles, deck, and are pure white. That kind of boat. It whisked away into the vast ocean as fast as the captain would allow (later found out we were going about 70mph).
At about 7am, I could no longer see land in any direction and we had witnessed a few of those tiny ocean cyclones that crop up in patches of storms. The cool watery air smelled thick of salt and the first few glimmers of a sunrise peeked through clouds. The ship moved easterly and it was as if we were pulling the sun towards us. I breathed deep and stuck my face into a burst of mist that periodically splashed up from the speed of the boat. The first mate started getting poles set up, baits hooked, and all that fishing stuff that I knew nothing about. I just stared. I believe I was 12 years old at this time, so staring was what I did. The first mate was cute, too. Lots of staring and smelling.
About an hour or so later, the boat finally glided to a stop and one of the most grueling feelings of fishing set in. Seasickness. When one is so far out into the sea, the currents are slow but huge and I felt every single rock of the ocean below me. My poor brother finally yacked into a bucket and I was on the brink of losing my lunch as well. To stave off any seasickness I chose to sleep periodically. The methodical swaying of the boat was a great sleep aid. I slept in such a way that allowed me to remain slightly conscious with my surroundings so when I heard excessive clamoring on the deck I'd poke my head out to see if there was anything to catch.
Some of the lines that had been baited and stuck into the water to move along side the boat began to reel out rapidly. Something was hooked. Without a moments hesitation the first man pulled the pole from it's support and gave it to my mom to reel. She was taken aback but he says, "It's your fishing trip, right?" Unable to comeback, my mom sits in the fishing chair and begins to reel. She reeled for about 15 minutes. We could already tell this was going to be a big fish as her reels became slow and drawn out, filled with concentration and determination. I tried to help but ended up getting yelled at by an already frustrated woman. Cute-First-Mate-Man skillfully leaned over the boat to get the fish from the water as it got within arms' reach. Whatever the hell an Amberjack is, that's what ended up being on the other side of the hook. After examining it, measuring it, and discussing the potential of using it as a future dinner, Mom learns this particular fish is difficult to cook, and decides to throw it back. Lucky Amberjack. It swam away happily.
Almost as soon as the Amberjack returned to its beloved water, another reel wizzed and made us all jump. Being the only one close by to take the line, the first mate reeled the entire thing in under 10 minutes. The hooked specimen was a small blue shark only about 4 feet in length that we all got to prod at and see up close before he, too, got his lucky break and returned to the ocean.
Now we head of for this school of fish we heard about earlier. All of us are hoping for either dolphin or tuna. My mom can cook both of those and if the tuna's are nice enough, there's some sushi in that. We close in and the first mate gets each of us set up with our individual pole. I felt like soldiers in a line listening to my commander as he instructed us on how to reel, how to bait, and how to immediately turn to him to get the fish into the freezer on time. Then we were free to have at it. I peered down into the water to see hundreds of bright green fish (dolphin!). They were swimming in such a way that mimicked how huge flocks of birds fly together in that roller coaster of fluency.
Baits on, bodies braced - we went fishing.
Dolphin aren't too tricky. My dad, who grew up freshwater fishing, kept jerking his rod when he got a bite because that's the way to snag the thick mouths of, say, a bass or catfish. However, this method in saltwater fishing will only cause you to tear a fish's mouth and probably ruin the way it eats for the rest of it's life. He was frustrated with his habit but eventually learned to just drop the line into the water and reel up a fish. The first mate relied on my brother to toss chum into the sea so the fish would swim up closer to our lines. My brother is slightly mentally handicapped and fishing took certain motor skills he's unable to perform. Chum throwing, however, was a great sport for him and he started calling himself the "Fish Feeder." My mom joked that we needed him to feed the fish so she'd have fish to feed us all.
The first mate had his hands full tending to all of us. As one person would pull up a fish, he'd quickly de-hook it, toss it in the freezer, and assist another one of us. It was clockwork de-hooking. I'm sure he got nicked by the hooks more than 10 times. With the race to get these fish while the Fish Feeder held rule over their small existence, we didn't realize that the freezer was steadily filling. Cute first mate, now covered in blood and fish guts, told us to reel in our last fish because we had reached 50. We were all panting, tired, and very hungry.
I decided to eat what little I could stomach and go sleep.
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| A picture of the sailfish I caught, later used in a brochure |
Grrrrrr. Holy shit. This must have been a BIG fish because my handle wouldn't budge. My dad came over to help me get started but even after I was able to get it around once, I still had trouble. I looked to the first mate to see if I had been doing anything wrong. It's at this point he confessed that I was battling a full grown sailfish. Shit.
Even with that in mind, I really wanted to see this beautiful fish and was really happy I got the opportunity to be reeling it. So with all my twelve year old might, I reeled. And reeled. It hurt my arm terribly and at one point I slipped and allowed the sailfish to pull away with the line. I felt all the tiny tendons in my wrist poking out severely as I cranked, and my teeth were clenched together with such might that I figured soon I'd break out as the Hulk, reach my into the water, and pull that sailfish out with my bare hands. The first mate had warned me that it may jump out of the water in frustration and it did. Three times. I could feel the reverberations of its jump all the way up my shoulders, but it was a magnificent slight. I ended up reeling this fish for 45 minutes before it was close enough that the first mate could bring it up and let us look.
Maybe it's not the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen, but probably the most gorgeous of ocean things. The blue on it's body was as dark as the waters it swam in but there was a brilliant blue pattern near the sail that was just electric with shine and color. The white of its belly rivaled the newest white car at the dealership and it's black eyes seemed to look straight into you, exclaiming, "What have you done?!" And it was the strongest thing, whipping it's long spear-face trying to rid itself of our grip. Pure muscle rippled through it's long body. The sail was huge and had amazing colors, too. At this time, that sail was probably as tall as my brother. The captain came down to look at it as well and nodded with approval. I loved my sailfish but there are environmental laws that explicitly say we must throw large game back. I was just ecstatic that I actually accomplished reeling in a sailfish.
I remained awake for the boat ride home as we whisked back westerly toward the docks. Startled flying fish torpedoed out of the water that we passed over. They're gorgeous, too, if you ever get a chance to see one in real life. Tiny things but brightly colored and such a spectacle. In the evening light the sun flashed off their wet wings and made them look like small magical beings. The final catch of the evening turned out to be a hungry seagull that took a swipe at our still baited hook. The first mate untangled him and I got to pet his soft white feathers before we released him back into the sky.
Finally reaching the dock, we performed the ritual of removing our catch from the freezer and tossing it upon the docks to be collected, skinned and packaged for us right there. Every boat that comes into this particular harbor does this same thing and it's big with spectators. They judge the size of your fish, the size of your catch, the variety in your catch, and always want to hear the big "fish story" of the day. Children will come up and poke at the frozen bodies, squeal at the slimey-ness, and run back to their parents. I would always poke the eyeballs. I can remember the feeling like I'm there right now. It's like a watery solid. My finger glides over the eye with such ease that it felt like nothing had happened but occasionally I'd stop paying attention and my finger would go down in between the eye and outer scales. I also enjoyed the fins which felt similar but had the texture of a feather with the long stringy bones that formed it.
The fishing was a long, long 12 hour day, but it's something I'd do over and over again. If you ever get the chance, head to Hatteras Harbor Marina in the Outer Banks, North Carolina and book yourself a boat.
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