Fintastic’s Total Tag and Release Billfish and Marlin Tournament, Nov 10th-13th

There’s monsters out there. Miguel knows, he once caught a 1,000 lb. Black Marlin in these blue waters. I’ve heard the stories, I had to go see for myself. I’m a Tournament observer, get to go out on the Whisky II with Ed, Jose Luis, Roberto and Jaime and anglers: Miguel “Captain of the Yellow Fin” Alvarez and Ken “better late than never” Ellis. I am not a fisherman, I was here to learn. I was here for the adventure. I was here for the monsters.

Day 1

Lines in at 7am, out at 5pm.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been up this early. Its still dark outside, my eyes are squinty in anticipation. I got my bag: sunscreen, water, baseball cap, sandwiches, check!

Captains and mates ready the boats, the seasoned veterans lounge sipping coffee, nonchalantly eyeing the horizon. The competitors slowly wind their way down the pier overburdened with their day’s supplies, big coolers, big tackle bags, big cases of beer. Some looked like they’d been at the bar with me last night. Others looked like they had been too excited to sleep.

While they sleepers, or the perpetually calm, neatly arraigned their gear, the insomniacs and the “born ready”, strapped on gloves, adjusted their fighting chairs and paced impatiently. 6:30, 5 till 7, everyone’s still milling around the pier. Let’s go, let’s go! Who needs the camera crew, let’s go!

The sun is coming up when we finally motor out, a beautiful orange glow stretches across the bay. Jaime is sewing hooks intobait fish, eeeww.

After thirty minutes of carefully arranging rods, lines, weights and flapping bait fish a spider’s web of monofiliment is shining behind the boat. We’re ready. Where are the monsters?

Two strikes in the first hour, no catches. The music has been turned off, gotta hear the “peel” of the lines, it’s serious now.

One or two pesky mountains are still visible in the distance, they are totally ruining my “we’re way out in the deep blue ocean” fantasy.

9:40 caught a bird. The seagulls just won’t leave the bait fish alone, they just can’t understand how those little guys are swimming so fast. So the just try and try, circle around build up more speed, diving, missing, getting more determined, until they finally get snagged by the hook.

11:20 –finally a catch. But only a Bonito, long as your arm, but just a bait fish for the big guys. Reel it in, immediately shove a hook in ‘em and toss him back out there.

Nothing, nada, not a thing.

5pm- lines out.

Day 2

9:15- We have to get 5 today to overtake the leader. We have none. The best baits are out, the lines are set. Miguel sits in his fighting chair, his feet propped up in readiness. I scan the horizon for any sign of sail or fin. Every wave, every swell, every bump in the ocean looks like a sail, a fin, a whale! I have never seen a Sailfish or a Marlin, I don’t even know what I’m looking for, but I’m looking, desperately. My eyes are straining, I’m in a frenzied state of constant anticipation. Where are they? If we don’t catch something soon, I’m gonna have a heart attack. I’m clutching the rail, frowning in concentration. There is nothing but ocean all around us. Why is everyone else so calm?

God, fishing is exhausting.

There is something out there. I can feel it, I got that fisherman’s intuition. Read about it in a magazine on the boat. The Tony Robbins of Bass fishing told me, if you can get into the zone, you’ll know exactly where the fish are before you even cast. I’m trying to get into the zone. Miguel’s my man and the big one’s out there. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see them jumping. Always out of the corner of my eye, these phantom monsters. Their huge black beaks break the surface, their glistening fins hiding behind every swell, every ripple. There out there, I can smell them.

“Whirrrrrr….”

Miguel yells, I yell, we all jump up. The rod bends, it stretches, the line peels. With a splash, a tail thump, it flies out of the water like a rocket, magnificent, beautiful, shining in the sun. Its glorious! No, it’s just another Dorado.

It’s getting tense, 12:30 on the second day and still no Sailfish or Marlin. Miguel’s the man to beat and right now it seems, everyone’s beating him. We’re switching out the baits, we’re re-rigging, circling, scanning, pulling out all the stops. Miguel is frowning, scowling at the ocean. I’m standing on my tip-toes.

2:25-No fish, but Lou Bega’s, “Mambo No. 5” is on the stereo (“a little bit of Jessica by my side…”), now that’s more like it! We’re rocking, we’re fishing, gonna do a Billfish dance in the middle of the galley. Miguel makes jokes with Roberto about using a duck call they have found on the boat. “Squawk, squawk…”, calling all Marlins. In our extreme frustration, it is hilarious. Miguel goes out on the deck and points the duck call into the air, “Squawk, squawk!!.”

“Whirrrrr….”

We can’t believe it! We jump up, we yell, we race to the back of the boat. It’s a Marlin! How they know this, I have no idea, but they are sure. I can’t see anything, except the rod bending double and the line disappearing way out into the distance. Everyone’s wide eyed, I got my camera ready. Miguel and the Marlin stand off, it’s a tense two minutes. It’s a battle to the death, the Marlin wins. He spits out the bait and we are again batting “0”. We are a dejected lot.

5pm-lines out.

They tell me fishing isn’t always about the catch of a lifetime. Sometimes its just about the peacefulness, the solitude, the ocean induced tranquility. There must be some truth to it because it’s got me all poetic. But after two 11hr days of gazing upon the majestic, deep, big blue, and not a single Sailfish or Marlin to show for it, I am at one with the ocean. It can keep its monsters, I’ve seen pictures. And I need a shower and a long nap, and I really wish the ground would stop moving.

Day 3

Ken is Finally here! Thank God! We need some help.

Motoring out of the bay, we spot a school of porpoises happily bounding in unison over the waves. It’s beautiful, inspiring, just like some Discovery channel special. I am again recharged. The war isn’t over yet, we’ve got eight hours to catch nine fish. Anything’s possible, we can still win!

We spot some huge Sailfish and do some stakeouts. We circle and circle, they just frolic and refuse to bite. They swim in this happy little side to side motion. Flicking their tails in glee. They are laughing at us.

10:25- Woo-hoo! Ken, our hero, has finally landed a Sailfish! I come flying down from the flight deck, camera in hand, pink tournament slips flapping in the wind. I’m in the way, I’m jumping around, I’m taking pictures of the back of peoples’ heads. The Sailfish is out there jumping, dancing, just like they said it would. Miguel grabs the leader, Roberto jabs a tag into it, like a pro. Ken finally smiles. I’m so excited my hands are shaking as I fill out the tournament and tag forms. My handwriting is a scribble.

12:10- Miguel and Ken get strikes at the same time. Both rods are bending, we can’t believe our luck. Both men are straining, reeling, my camera is going off like crazy. This is more like it, we’re gonna win! They reel and reel, the lines get closer together, what’s going on? Miguel mutters a curse. It’s the same fish! Hooked him twice, damn the bad luck. We joke, can we tag him twice and count him as two fish? Please…

1:30- It’s just ocean and more ocean. We must not be the only ones doing poorly, the chatting on the radio has increased.

“How many points for a seagull?”

“100 points!”

“50 extra if you tag him!”

3:00- Lines out! It’s over. I think I’m more upset than anyone. No one else seems to mind. Oh well, we got two bright red tag flags flapping in the breeze and that’s what important. It’s a glorious day, the bay is shining and the water is a postcard blue. We’re happy, we’re exhausted. Ken saved us from certain humiliation by bringing in two Sailfish, both in the hundred pound and over range. Not exactly monsters, they were kinda cute actually- pointy noses and all, but the biggest fish I’d ever seen in my life. If there are monsters out there, and how can you call them monsters- they’re too pretty, I hope they stay out there and infuriate fishermen for many years to come.

I was there, but if you want the real story, you’ll have to check it out on ESPN.

And the ground, it’s still moving.

November 1999