The two thirty-pound lines had been in the water for thirty minutes, but as of yet we had had no strikes on our fresh dead ribbonfish. We were trolling the standpipes a few miles offshore just outside Port Aransas, TX. One of the baits was on the downrigger at eighteen feet. The other was skipping along the surface about 75 yards behind the boat, just out of the reach of the aqua-blue prop wash. The water offshore had turned from off-color to slightly green at five miles out. By six miles out the water was blue and clear.
Summer 2006
Our vacation to Port Aransas had been wonderful that year, as usual; save for the rough seas and murky water that had kept us bay fishing and shopping at shell-hell all week. We had been hoping for at least one trip offshore in search of King Mackerel. Kingfish.
We woke up early that last morning, checkout day, to a calm sea and blue water visible from our condo on the beach. Cindy decided to sleep in and get the condo ready for checkout. My kids, Walter and Lindsey, and her friend Mariah, jumped at the chance for one more trip out in the boat. Check out time: 11:00 AM.
9:00 AM, 10 miles out at sea.
After circling the standpipe rigs several times I turned the eighteen foot bay boat and made a bearing toward a couple of ships waiting at anchor, two miles further out, for their turn to enter into the ship channel. The lazy rocking of the small boat in the rough seas had us all feeling just a bit queasy. The July heat and boat exhaust were not helping.
***
We hustled the boat into town and stopped at Woody’s for ribbonfish, ice, and last minute survival food: DPs, candy bars, and white powdered donuts. Time was at a premium so we were in a hurry. Pulling into the boat ramp at the harbor, I started running through my mental checklist:
Fuel √
Oil √
Flares √
Survival Food √
Gaff √
GPS √
Marine Radio √
Tools √
Fishing Tackle √
Knife √
First aid kit √
9:30 AM, 11 miles out.
About 400 yards straight off the bow a commotion briefly erupted on the surface that was just visible in the three-foot swells. It was just enough to catch my attention and I was heading right for it. In a hurry I bumped up the speed just slightly. I wasn’t sure what kind of fish it was, but I was confident that it was a game fish that had just attacked some bait that it had cornered against the surface of the water. At trolling speed it takes a few minutes to cover a quarter mile. During those minutes the monotony of dragging bait in the water kicked back in and my head lolled on my shoulders with the rocking of the boat.
Looking at my watch I wonder how we’ll ever do it. We needed to get to the blue water, which was at least five miles off shore. In those swells, it was going to take at least thirty minutes to get there. I also wondered how we would have enough time to fish, make the trip back to the harbor, get the boat on the trailer, to the condo, showered, and out the door by eleven. I was being WAY optimistic; but there were fish to be caught.
9:45 AM, 11 miles out.
Doubting myself, I know I should really turn the boat towards Port Aransas. Cindy is at the condo packing our bags for us. I really should…. “FISH ON!!!” Walter shouts. Simultaneously I hear the drag on our surface rod start zinging as the line starts ripping off the spool. Just as soon as it started it stopped. The line went slack and the four of us are standing at the stern of the idling boat wondering what monster King we just missed.
***
Coming out into the gulf at the end of the jetties is always interesting in the bay boat. Even with the deep-V of the bow, the rip currents, wind, and swells make for an interesting ride. Beyond a couple of hundreds yard past the end, the swells settled into their pattern, and I found the right speed for our boat and aimed for the standpipes. Repeatedly, as we crested the top of each wave, the bow would suddenly dropped into the next trough, the nose of the boat just inches from the next wave washing over.
9:47 AM, 11 miles out.
I make a quick loop back to the strike zone. I wanted another shot at that fish. While I’m doing this Walter is resetting the line on the down-rigger and putting a fresh ribbonfish on the surface line. Back to trolling speed, I point the bow toward the ships. We’ll be back in the zone in a moment. I’ll give us fifteen more minutes.
***
A half-mile out of the standpipes I drop to trolling speed and the kids pull down two boat rods. Five feet long, thick, and stiff, they each hold a Penn off-shore reel loaded with thirty pound test line. We had pre-made our king-fish rigs: Eight inches of stainless steel wire with loops built-in and three large 5/0 hooks. One goes through the jaws of the bait, one in the middle, and the third stinger at the tail for short striking kings. The first bait goes out. With Lindsey at the helm, aiming for the left hand side of the rig, Walter lets out the line on the left as I prep the down-rigger. Once he has that line out, I clip the downrigger release to the line and get a good hold on the 8 pound bullet weight, and take a counter-clockwise turn on the downrigger to let the cable loose. Easing the weight into the water, I carefully control the spool as the weight starts to drop. As the line feeds out I watch the countdown to eighteen feet. As I'm doing this Walter drops in the surface bait and feeds it out, stopping it 75 yards behind us. With both rods in the holders we settle into our routine.
9:51 AM, 11 miles out.
Cindy is going to kill me if I’m late. I probably already am late. Cell phones don’t work 10 miles out. I’ve got to turn… “STRIKE!”. I whip my head around as the rod springs back to a straight position, the line limp. Looking out where the bait should be I see a shadow. A REALLY BIG shadow – moving very slowly. I ease back on the throttle and can make out a very translucent blue beast 75 yards out. It is perpendicular to the boat when it rolls and this huge sail comes out of the water as it attacks our bait. “SAILFISH!!!” Walter and I both scream.
We are definitely going to be late.
LIKE A PRO Walter sets the hook. The rod doubles over and the reel starts singing as this most beautiful thing I have ever seen launches itself out of the water and starts skipping across the surface tied to my boat by a thin strand of monofilament. God I hope my knots hold. “Keep the tip up! Loosen the drag!! Don’t horse him!!!” All these things rush through my mind and come out of my mouth as if I’m a freaking sailfish catching veteran. Hell I didn’t know what to do; I was making it up as I went along. Lindsey starts cranking in the other line as I bring up the down-rigger. Mariah takes the helm and keeps us moving forward in a straight line.
I don’t give a damn if we are going to be late. This is an epic adventure.
“Lindsey grab the camera.” She asks, “Where is it?” “In the chest in front of the console”, I reply. “Walter, let Mariah have a few minutes with the fish!” The look in his eye telling me otherwise, he very cooperatively hands her the rod and coaches her as she takes on her first saltwater fish. A sailfish. Damn.
“Lindsey take the helm, I'll look for the camera.” Digging through the box I don’t see it either. I jump to the front and dig through the starboard storage box. Nothing. To the port side…nothing. My mental checklist starts pounding in my head. “OH NO!” “What Dad?” “My camera is in the truck.” Impossibly far away. “Mariah do you have your phone?” “No.” Oh crap. And our phones don’t have cameras. Looking around I see the next closest boat is more than half mile away.
This epic adventure is not going to be on film. Nobody is going to believe this.
“Lindsey! Take over for Mariah.” I wanted to get my hands on that pole so bad. But I wanted them to have this experience for themselves as well. The fish goes deep and starts coming at us. After a few minutes Lindsey’s arms are tired. Thank God.
By now the fish is directly below us and is wearing down as I gently crank him in. We see a flash of his color and that huge sail about fifteen feet down. At the same time he sees us and with a second wind he stole out another fifty feet of line, ripping it from my reel. But his energy soon played out and the tired giant came on up and alongside the boat. This is one beautiful creature. Walter reaches over and grabs two handfuls of fish, just above the tail and carefully brings him into the boat. I didn’t want to hurt this fish any more than we already had, so we quickly got the hooks out and admired our catch. This was a first for us all. That thin leather-like sail was amazingly flexible. It could stand straight up and full, or could be pushed down to where it almost laid flat on his back. His bill was long and sharp. Even with this weapon at the front he looked amazingly vulnerable as we held him and touched him. I didn’t have a tape measure long enough to measure or a scale big enough to weigh him. So I stood up on the bow of the boat and reached up with his tail as high as I could manage. Doing this, his bill just came up to the top of the deck. This fish was over six feet long. I have no idea what he weighed. 50 lbs? 75? Doesn’t matter.
We got him back over the side quickly. With Lindsey at the helm and moving us slowly, I held onto his bill and kept him upright as the life giving water eased through his gills giving him air to breath once again. After about thirty seconds he started to keep up with the boat on this own…I turned loose and he slowly pulled away. With a flash and a turn, he disappeared into the depths.
We stow our gear and each crack open an ice cold Dr. Pepper in celebration. Finally I turn the boat towards Port Aransas. At least I have a good reason to explain why we are late. I just wish we had a picture to prove it!
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