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A most magnificent fish
by Captain Donald B. McArthur, Ret.
I am not a writer. I am a fisherman, and retired Captain of the Eagle, but I have a story to tell, the story of a wonderful day and a most magnificent fish.
It was January, 1999, early morning, barely daylight, and the cold winter air wanting to see the sunrise along with the rest of us, waited as we listened to the roar of the diesels and the swish of the sea rushing behind. One captain and his mate, along with four men, riding 44 feet of power, underway at 25 knots.
As the Eagle cleared Cape Hatteras Inlet and turned south-southeast into the deep, her captain was once again content to be entering his own, world the world of the open sea, eyes watching, mind occupied with what may await the still sleeping passengers below.
Several years earlier, large schools of giant Atlantic blue fin tuna had been discovered wintering off the coast of Hatteras, North Carolina. The charter boats began fishing for them, and people were coming from all over the world to catch them.
This particular day, the group on the Eagle consisted of four Amish gentleman from central Pennsylvania, stout men, used to hard work. Hhow could they possibly know how their stamina and resolve to conquer would be tested on this day.
There may have been two dozen boats fishing each beginning their search, just within range of the other marine radios. Should the fish be found everyone would immediately know and every boat would converge on the riches of the sea. The men in the fighting chairs would be happy at last.
I asked my mate, Doug Howell, to take two medium weight rods and put two baits in the water to troll behind the boat — 80 lb. class rods with Penn International 80 lb. reels filled with 100 lb. monofilament line — not the equipment to battle these huge tunas, but adequate to catch anything we expected to hook while trolling. This was what we used to catch the biggest blue marlin during the summertime — professional equipment on a professional boat .
But big blue marlins are one thing, giant blue fin tunas, certainly something else. We used the 130 lb. unlimited tackle with 200 lb. test line for them. But as we trolled along, not knowing what was in store for us, we set the big stuff aside, and used the medium tackle. At the time I thought it was the right thing to do. But it sure wasn’t going to be enough for this day or, for this fish — the fish of a lifetime for the farmers below.
At 5 minutes after 9, there were two huge splashes behind the stern of the Eagle, not more than a boat length away. Thank heavens we only hooked one of those two giants. The mate quickly put away the rod that had missed, and the first of the combatants got in the fighting chair, and was strapped to the rod with both a body harness and a bucket harness, the rod being clipped to a rope that was fast- secured to the base of the chair.
The captain, satisfied that everything was properly attended to, turned his attention to the fish. Usually, larger blue fins will go down deep immediately, but we were in shallow water — only 17 fathoms. The reel only had 500 yards of line and as it had taken a full minute and a half to get things under control, the fish had taken a very great head start at a very great speed. The angle of the line leaving the boat was testament to the direction this great fish had chosen for her escape. The captain threw both engines in reverse and the chase.
All of the largest of the species of the saltwater game fish are females and as this magnificent lady poured on the pressure, there was nothing for me to do but give proper chase. As the propellers rumbled on in full reverse, the boat shook and shuttered and the water crashed against the stern. Full astern we went, as hard as I dared push her, fearful that at any moment a shaft must surely break or a propeller weaken and throw a blade. But they held, and away we went first this way, then that generally moving in a southeasterly direction, trying desperately to keep even one inch of line on the reel.
She knew what she was doing. She had lived all of her life out here in this great ocean. She knew where the deep water was. There was nothing I could do about it, except to try to keep up with her and pray that the wind would not blow, that there would not somehow be a nick in the tiny line that attached 26,000 pounds of fiberglass and steel to this wondrous animal. Yes, she did know where she was going, and she knew why she was going there.
One hour, then the second, followed by a third and finally the first human had to relent to his inferior strength. He was quickly replaced by another, leaving two in reserve, waiting the turn that we all now knew would come to them.
The boat had been in full reverse and the captain was attending to two throttles and two gears, all in unison as the fish would weave and circle. First apply forward gear on one engine while the second was still in reverse. Then give her the throttle again, as much as she could stand, quivering against the strains of 900 horsepower the boat swiveling and turning on a dime. I had been here before, I thought to himself, and this is why I was born to live — this very moment with this girl this boat this ocean these men.
Already now, getting tired mind racing to every possible eventuality of failure, thinking how to stop it before it happened. So very much to think about with the fish of a lifetime, which can disappear in the blink of an eye. Any little thing poof, and it’s all over.
But it held and so did I, and so did my boat, and so did my mate and the man in the chair now the fourth hour and the fifth, knowing that, he too, is going to be beaten.\
Finally, as I begin to gain some distance and come closer to the beast, I see the line take a shallower angle. Will she surface? Could it be that she is going to show herself to us, after all. Yes, I see her, still 300 yards distant. But even from there, she looked huge, 16 feet above the surface of the water. I know better than she what a tragic mistake she has made but, bless her heart, she had no choice. She had been running for her life for almost six hours in the middle of the afternoon. In those few minutes, I closed the gap to only a stone’s throw, finally confident that the end was near, that I would win.
But she was still the author of the day, and she was not complete in her story just yet. She has accomplished a major coup, having taken me into water so deep I cannot find the bottom on my color scope. We are now faced with another set of difficulties. She is going one way, the current another. She need only to go down, and take all of the thread that is her attachment to me.
She didn’t. I suppose had we been in this place when we first hooked her, she would have, but by now even she was beginning to tire.
After eight hours, the fourth angler had come and gone. The oldest of the group, he gave it his very best, but only lasted a half hour. We began their rotation once more, but this time it was much more than hold on and take an inch if the boat catches up a bit. Now we are having to bring this fish up from the deep, as she lays below the boat, circle after circle.
“Pump that rod,” “reel in the slack when you drop the tip,” “pull,” “hate me tomorrow, but catch this fish today.” Time and again, I shouted encouragement. By now, all we have left is luck and experience. So very slowly, she comes up, if only an inch at a time. Finally, she has to give more than she can take back. She does not understand what is happening to her. After all, all she wanted was something for breakfast. She meant me no harm.
I am a fisherman, but still it saddens me that the end is near. I take the time to tell her Creator how I am feeling, and ask Him to understand, wondering if I am worthy of forgiveness for what I am yet to do determined to do. I am so tired, as I watch the end unfold. The only witnesses to the end are the stars.
At 5 minutes after 7 p.m., exactly ten hours after our initial acquaintance with this lovely girl, my mate strikes her with the gaff, just over the stern. She had come to the top, having been in sight, in the lights of my boat, for a full half-hour. She was so tired, she could only lay there and be captured. When the second gaff struck, she was brought around the corner to lay alongside, where I could finally see her.
How in the world am I ever going to get her aboard. I took the block and tackle and tied it as high on the hardtop tower on my bridge as I could and pulled the hook on it all the way down to the water’s edge. I went below to the main deck to fasten a loop around her huge tail. Then the group of us pulled until her tail was to the level of the bridge. But she was not yet clear of the water. So I took another line and went back up top and tied her off where she was, and with an adjustment, pulled her another four feet up to pull her head over the port side. After an hour’s struggle, she lay on the deck quivering no more .
Eleven hours — ten to fight her, and another to bring her aboard. It seemed like an eternity. I hardly imagine the 31 hours the Little Fireball had done battle with a gigantic blue marlin, in these very waters, years ago only to lose the fight to her. All during that time, the radio had been a hum of excitement. Where are you now? How’s it coming? Have you seen her yet? How big is she? How far is she from the boat? What time will you be in?
Time — what is time anyway. I do not know. No time to answer them until now. But from the place I had hooked her, I ended up more than 26 miles away. That would be a straight line, but we had not fought her in a straight line. We had probably moved the boat more than 50 miles, ending up 38 miles east-southeast of Cape Hatteras Inlet.
By the time I finally backed my boat into the slip back in Hatteras, everybody in the fishing community knew of this great fish. Even at the hour of midnight, there they all were — my fellow captains waiting to see me and her, each having spent their entire evening at the marina listening to their radios.
She was 101 inches in length 55 inches in girth and weighed 503 poundsIt is an
honor to have known you, old girl Please forgive me. ER