Good morning, my friends,
Periodically, I sit down and write a short story based on something that happened in our lives. The following is true. Hope you enjoy it:
A Dream Comes True
All my life, since I was a child old enough to read and understand life; I’ve wanted to catch a BIG fish - the bigger the better. My obsession might have had something to do with my maternal grandfather, who held several Illinois state records for catching the biggest bass.
Regardless of the reason, this desire stayed with me throughout my military career and beyond. Of course, any military member who reads this tale knows the possibility of having enough money to go to Mexico to catch a large Marlin was out of my price range. But, a person can dream. Dreams are difficult to achieve and more difficult to give up on.
Although my military service took my family and me to Bermuda for three years; and later to Hawaii for five years, the finances were never there. When you are an Airman First Class for nine years, you barely have enough money to feed your family, let alone pursue a dream.
Three stripes and many years later, while stationed at Wheeler AFB, we did take one short fishing trip by sharing the cost with five others, all of whom became seasick shortly after we left the dock. My wife, Carol, I and our son, Kris rode the waves like true sailors.
It didn’t help things when one lady brought bananas on the boat. The captain took one look at the fruit and said, “We won’t have any luck today.”
When questioned about his statement, the captain told us it was an old Hawaiian curse – bring bananas on a boat and you had bad luck. Of course, we didn’t believe him; but, as the day wore on, we changed our minds.
We drew numbers to see who would be the first to take a rod if we got a “strike”. Yes, you guessed it – the lady who brought the bananas drew number one.
Again, the captain shook his head and kept his eyes downcast.
But, to his surprise and ours, we got a strike within an hour of riding seven to ten foot waves.
“Grab the rod,” the captain shouted.
The banana lady did, and the line immediately went slack. Whatever had hit the lure was long gone.
The remainder of the day was spent watching our companions throw up over the side as their faces turned a deeper shade of green. In six more hours of higher waves and more misery, we never got another strike and returned to the dock with my dream still out there, gathering dust.
I’ve fished in many states, rivers, streams, lakes and oceans while catching my fair share of what others might call “big” fish. (Picture a thirty-one inch long Redfish weighing in at ten pounds and you get my drift). But, that HUGE fish remained out there, hiding behind a rock or deep in the ocean, laughing at me and my dream.
Finally, at the age of 65, I decided if I was ever going to attain my dream to catch that elusive Marlin, it had better be soon. I wasn’t getting any younger or stronger. From what I’d read in fishing magazines, it took extraordinary strength and endurance to fight a Marlin for an hour or more. I only hoped I was still up to it; but, the only way to find out was to go catch one.
Fast forward many years after we retired. Carol and I were on a cruise through the Panama Canal when we stopped at Cabo San Lucas, located on the Baja Peninsula. As we stood on the quay of the large harbor there, I watched someone in a boat a half-mile off shore fighting a Marlin.
That’s all the incentive I needed.
“We are coming back here to catch my Marlin,” I declared. “I don’t care what it costs.”
“Then let’s do it,” Carol replied.
At a nearby hotel, I inquired about the cost of renting a boat. I was surprised to discover one can rent a twenty-six foot cabin cruiser with a two man crew for $250.00 for an eight hour day. The fishing license was extra - $11 per person. Purchasing several small bait fish was required – cost approximately $10.
When I compared that to the price I paid to go out with a guide in Rockport and catch three Redfish and perhaps a few trout, for a four hour trip, ($500), suddenly my dream seemed more attainable.
Whatever, come hell or high water, I was going! And, Carol was coming along. Why not catch two – one apiece? My dream now became hers. That’s what marriage is all about.
Two months later, we arrived in Cabo San Lucas. Our hotel was the same one I visited to learn about the cost of fishing. It was four star and very nice. We were just a few steps from the quay and harbor. We hired a boat named “Capricorn” for two days fishing. It came with a captain named Felipe and a deckhand, Jose. Both spoke excellent English.
The first morning, at six a.m., we departed the dock area. The night before, when we spoke with other fishermen, we learned the Marlin and Dorado were both biting well. Carol’s and my hopes were high.
After stopping at a store on the quay for our licenses, we motored across the harbor to the official licensing bureau, where Jose had our licenses approved. Then, it was back across the harbor to a large barge where every boat must check in and out with the military police on duty there.
That was an experience. Imagine thirty to forty different-sized boats, all with impatient fishermen aboard, vying for space around this barge, getting their licenses stamped once again and then backing out of their space so someone else can claim it. It was controlled pandemonium, but somehow, it all worked out.
Felipe fed the gas to the engine and we motored out of the harbor. Then he slowed so we could approach one of many rowboats setting on the surface with bait fish for sale. We paid $10 for approximately the same number of fish, which Jose stored in a small live well at the stern of the boat.
Once again, Felipe poured the coals to the engine and we roared away. Then we slowed to pass the famous “hole in the rock” and the curious seals and sea lions that make the rock their home. I was able to capture some with my camera.
As we continued on our way, leaving a large wave as our wake, Jose broke out several rods and lures and began to prepare them. We had two outriggers, one on each side of the boat. Jose hooked an orange plastic lure to one rod, cast it out expertly and allowed the line to spool out for approximately fifty yards behind the boat.
Then he attached that line to the right outrigger; and prepared another with a green plastic lure for the left. After that, he rigged two others with different colored lures and placed both at the rear of the boat, one on each side of the railing.
We now had four lines trailing behind us, jumping up momentarily into the air and then splashing back down. It reminded me of scenes I’d seen in movies with motion picture stars doing their thing in Acapulco.
“What’s good enough for Clark Gable is good enough for me,” I said and laughed.
Jose smiled as he pulled one of the small fish from the live well. Instead of attaching it to one of the rods, he proceeded to push a large, (and I mean LARGE), hook through its mouth and deep into the body of the fish. Then, he took stout line and a needle that looked like a small harpoon and actually sewed the fish onto the hook.
Believe it or not, the fish remained alive throughout this process.
When Jose finished, he hooked the line to another rod lying on the deck and placed the sewn up fish back into the live well.
I wondered what that was all about, but figured if I was supposed to know, either Felipe or Jose would tell me when the time was right.
For the next four hours, Carol and I watched the lures jump up, flop back down and repeat this strange dance, over and over. It was boring to say the least. Every hour, Carol took a picture of me holding up the appropriate number of fingers to indicate how many hours it had been without a strike.
My dream was becoming a nightmare!
Suddenly, Felipe slowed the boat appreciatively and shouted, “Reel, reel!”
We had no idea what he meant until Jose came clambering down the ladder from the flying bridge and began to reel in line on one of the rods. Then, we jumped up and helped him reel in the three remaining.
“Marlin!” Jose shouted above the noise of the engine and pointed to the right side of the boat.
“I can’t see a thing,” I said.
“Neither can I,” Carol replied.
“Marlin,” Jose repeated, still pointing out there, somewhere.
As soon as the last rod was in, Jose picked up the rod from the deck, removed the small sewn fish from the live will and again, expertly cast the fish in the direction of the supposed Marlin.
Apparently, the Marlin, (if there was one), didn’t take the bait.
Felipe fed fuel to the engine and we roared ahead again, then he slowed the boat, and Jose, who had reeled in the line, cast the poor little fish out into the blue water one more time.
Nothing. Not a bite, not even a nibble.
Jose reeled in the line, shrugged to show his disappointment, laid the rod down on the deck and put the poor little fish into the live well once more.
Then, as Felipe sped up, Jose put out the same four rods, but changed the colors of the lures. (As if that would help).
We continued to watch those stupid lures dance up and down for another three hours. I was afraid we’d run out of film taking pictures of my fingers instead of fish.
Two more times, Jose or Felipe spotted Marlin and we did the same thing – “reel, reel”, and throw out the now very tired and sickly looking little fish. Still nothing.
My dream fish was nowhere in sight and after eight hours of sunburn and monotony, Felipe said, “They just weren’t here today. Maybe tomorrow.”
As we turned to return to the dock, I looked at Carol and said, “This is a bunch of BS.”
“What do you mean?” She asked.
“If those lures are supposed to catch Marlin, why when we supposedly see a Marlin do we reel them in and throw out that little fish?”
“I see what you mean,” Carol said. “They must think we are stupid to fall for something like that.”
“No, I don’t think so. I believe they are being practical. They know we’ve seen this lure business in the movies, so that’s what they give us. At the same time, I can understand their motives. If they let everyone in the world come here and catch as many Marlin as they want, pretty soon they wouldn’t have any Marlin. There goes their livelihood.”
“That’s pretty smart, but this way you’ll never achieve your dream of catching a Marlin,” Carol said.
“Tomorrow we’ll fish my way,” I replied. “No more of this ‘dragging the lures’ business. We’ll buy twenty of those small fish and use them as bait.”
“I hope Felipe will go along with your idea,” she said.
“If he and Jose want a nice tip, they will.”
So, bright and early the next morning, we repeated our exit from the harbor. But when we stopped for bait, I told Felipe, “Buy twenty of those little fish and take us out by the lighthouse. Several fishermen told us the Marlin are biting there.
“And, no more of the lures – we’ll do it my way.”
“As you wish,” Felipe said and smiled, but didn’t seem very happy.
We motored out about five miles from the lighthouse and stopped. We were practically surrounded by boats on every side, and from the looks of things, fishing was very good. We watched as two other boats hooked up Marlin that dragged those boats slowly away from the pack.
“Now, that’s more like it,” I said.
Suddenly, my dream looked like it might become a reality.
Felipe found a spot where he thought other boats wouldn’t pose a problem. We watched at Jose prepared four of those sewn-on little fish. He hooked one to each of two rods and gave them to us. The other fish were returned to the live well.
Carol and I placed our rods over the stern rail and let the little fish drift slowly away from the boat.
“Strip off about six feet of line at a time and let the bait fish get a long ways from the boat, Carol,” I said.
She did as I said and I followed suit.
Within fifteen minutes, Carol got the first strike. Her rod tip dipped and line screamed from her rod.
“Big Marlin!” Jose shouted and yanked back on Carol’s rod to set the hook well.
I quickly reeled in my line and watched Carol fight her first ever Marlin. It was a big one. In the thirty minutes she fought it, the Marlin jumped six times. (I was a little jealous).
Then she turned to me and said, “I can’t do this anymore. My arms are worn out. Here, take my rod and land the fish.”
“Can’t you hold on for a little longer?” I asked.
I was anxious to land my first Marlin, but I wanted to hook him myself. I also didn’t want to spoil Carol’s chance.
“No,” she said and grimaced. “It’s too much for me. Maybe we’ll hook a smaller one later and I can try my luck again.”
I reached for the rod, the tip dipped low and more line spooled off. Then, just as suddenly, the line went limp. Carol’s Marlin got away.
“Too bad,” I said.
Jose and Felipe patted Carol’s back and said, “I’m sorry. Nice fish.”
“Take us back where we were,” I said. “Where there’s one, there have to be more.”
“Yes, Sir,” Felipe said. He fired up the engine and turned back to where Carol hooked the first Marlin.
I looked up to see we were more than a mile from where the rest of the boats were lined up in a ragged circle.
“I didn’t realize the Marlin pulled us that far,” I said.
I had felt Felipe adjust the engine to give Carol more drag or less as it was called for, but the strength of the Marlin amazed us both.
“That was some fish, Carol. I wish you could have landed it.”
“Me too, but I’m too small for that sized fish. It was fun, though.”
Thirty minutes later, after we returned to the “honey hole”, I felt a hard tug on my line and watched as line poured off the spool to the sound of the drag squealing in protest.
Jose made a jerking motion to me, and I yanked upward and backward on the rod several times to set the hook. Line continued to spool out in amazing lengths. This was a BIG fish! Now, to make my dream come true!
I can’t begin to tell you how much fun it was, or how much work. As the minutes seemed to fly by, God, how my arms ached, but I wouldn’t give up for any amount of money. It was me against that Marlin and I was determined to be the victor.
By raising the rod upward with all my strength and then lowering it quickly while winding in line, I’d gain six feet. Then the Marlin would take eight. It looked like the Marlin might win this battle after all. He jumped an amazing ten times during our battle. Then, following each jump, he dived deeper. More line flew out and more sweat dripped from my brow.
Twenty minutes flew by; then thirty, forty and finally fifty. My arms were now solid wood, stretched almost beyond feeling. My wrists were on fire and my breath came in ragged gasps, but still this magnificent monster of the deep fought on.
Finally, Jose came over and tightened down the drag on my rod to the maximum.
“Now, it’s either you or him,” Jose said and smiled.
I attempted to return his smile, but my face was hurting too. My entire body was on fire.
“Can I keep this up?” I asked myself.
“You’d better,” I answered. “What about your dream?”
Once again, I raised that seventy pound rod, (or so it felt), dropped it quickly and reeled in line with fingers that felt like lead.
Hooray! I gained some line.
It took another fifteen minutes of severe pain and misery before my fantastic opponent gave it up and allowed itself to be pulled close to the boat atop the surface.
Its eyes were bright and it seemed to stare at me with hatred.
I almost felt sorry I began this fight.
“Can we let him go?” I asked.
Felipe shook his head as Jose gaffed the creature of the deep and pulled it up on to a ledge at the stern.
“No, he’s bleeding from the gills,” Felipe said. “If we let him go, he’ll only die. You fought him well. Tonight you’ll dine on Marlin.”
Then, something happened to partially tarnish my dream.
Jose reached down, grabbed the pointed “beak” of the Marlin and held it tight while Felipe took a small baseball bat and beat the fish to death.
Although I knew it was the humane way, I felt sick. It didn’t seem a fitting end to such a wonderful battle between two worthy opponents. Now, I wished the Marlin had won, but it was too late.
“God, I didn’t know they did that,” Carol said and looked a little green around her gills.
Sick at heart, I replied, “I didn’t either.”
Yes, that night we did dine on Marlin and it was delicious. I thought the mighty fish wouldn’t mind. It made no sense to waste the food it provided.
So, my lifelong dream came true.
Eventually, I forgave myself.
I hope the Marlin did.
The end - Karl Boyd
Until next time,
Vaya con Dias, my friends,
Karl
