Monday, 4 July 2011

Yeah Buoy's prize fish.

We were out around the corner from St. Anthony's Light and Tom spotted some heavy seagull activity to the East of our position; we hauled our lines in and then I put the afterburners on and within seconds we were in amongst the birds. To our excitement the water around us was boiling with bait-fish, scared-shitless and jumping out of the sea like miniature dolphins. "This ain't SeaWorld Orlando, bitches" I told the whitebait, but they either couldn't or chose not to hear me. They had good reason to be pissing their pants though: there were humungous predators below.


I killed the engine and the good ship Yeah Buoy drifted to a halt at a location that would later be known to the three of us and in folklore for centuries to come as MARK004. Tom, Jamie and I didn't fuck around and got our lines back in the water. The girls were chatting. 


Jamie had the first strike - a good size mackerel. Mackerel are one of my favourite types of fish; not only are they beautiful, but they're delicious. Nice work Jamie. However, all the mackerel in the world couldn't prepare us for what was about to happen next.


The red black and gold rod in my hands suddenly bowed in half, the sensitive tip which moments before had been pointed skyward was now aimed squarely at the turquoise deep. At first I thought I must have hooked at least seven big mackerel at once, but the force I was battling was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. With a multi-mackerel strike, the rod kicks and twitches chaotically as fish try to fight in different directions at once. This was something else though, this felt like I'd hooked a fucking missile. A missile headed for the seabed.


Inch by inch I cranked the monster closer to the surface, all the while the reel drag screaming for mercy as the fish battled to escape; but just as my quarry would soon learn, there would be no mercy today.


Finally, after what seemed like hours locked in deadly mortal combat, the beast breached the surface. With super-human strength I wrestled him into the boat where Tom was waiting with a knife ready to dispatch my noble adversary - which he did with the characteristic speed and precision I had come to expect from my shipmate.


Spent, and with the sun low in the sky, we plotted a course back to port where we would scale gut cook eat and blog about our prey.


On the way back, Jamie caught a good sized pollack.